There is

a poorly lit garage,
a bird in a tree unaware what time it is,
the smell of absolutely nothing,
a slap of darkness,
a reflection of unread books
and lines in foreheads,
a couple of thumbs,
an empty pack of Mini Cheddars,
tomorrow and yesterday,
sunburnt fingers,
a collapsing of energy,
a renewal of energy.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

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