The gurgle of a tap becomes
the street’s first song, a busker
tuning up for crumbs
of daylight.
His mother’s shadow
tiptoes in, bends to his ear,
hers the white dressing gown,
the light breeze on his cheek
whispering
‘Jack… Jack…
We have to get up early.’
‘What’s a pearly?’
Beyond the window’s dinosaurs
streetlights go out, a robin sings.
On a glazed road, shining,
a snail’s odyssey begins.
