I see you on the wrong side of 5am
dropping broken crockery in the dustbin
with a dent in it at the front of your driveway.
Your coat could be a dressing gown.
I try to sleep through the birds and have to hide
my head under the pillow because it’s so light.
I’m not sure what your name is, but I don’t know
if you’ve woken up early when I see you
or if you’re still awake, if you have sat in your kitchen
watching others drop things, or accidentally
smashed them when trying to cook, clean,
tidy, and before you know it you’ve cracked
the skin on your foot and it’s hard but it’s bleeding
and you’ve peeled your feet bare of their socks
and slipped into slippers, softly, padded out
with the broken mug, and you are listening, you lost
track of the time but can tell that it’s early
because it’s starting to look light and you can hear
the sounds of things drawing in first breaths.