Hinges that need oiling.
The door creaks, disturbs or,
if you're so inclined, complements the peace.
The peace that lives in this room
where you breath the deep breath, draught of dreams.
Anxieties. What will the future bring?
When we last shared this conversation,
we agreed, that whatever happens,
we are always looked after, always alright.
I should learn to trust this because it has always been so.
The peace that lives under the ebb and flow
of the cars that hiss by window
like the waves down on the beach.
Pigeons. Jackdaw dropping witchy
twigs down the sooty chimney.