If light is as early as the first trill
Of a cuckoo that senses dawn at night


Then it might come to pass
That you will find me awake
Conjuring spells of enchantment
Of forget and wrath


Whilst in the mirror, you will find yourself
In images of the past
For I know not of how you are
And where you have been


Just a damp photograph
Keeps fluttering against the wind
Trapped by deadweight