It’s five o’clock in the morning, it’s -5,

my dog pisses as she stares at me.

 

Her steam, my breath as one

I think she’s laughing.

I’m laughing, I’m wearing shorts and a beanie.

 

What is this,

eccentric Englishness?

 

Stars in silver sulphide pierce a frigid sky

a Supernova vents it’s dying throes.

 

She stands from squat,

the Blackbird sings

 

At five o’clock

a million things.