I woke from hazy kingdoms
to a frost-shackled landscape,
two boys to dress, feed and wrestle with
and a million undone things.

Shirt and trousered, stepped outside
Set my engine running
to clear the icy windscreen
and the radio ranted over the smokey wheeze
about a world ablaze and changing

My senses crisped like the crystalline verge
light shone unfettered through my eyes
And I was excited afresh
by this beautiful world
and my place in it

Driving breathlessly to work
through the glinting freeze
I passed a lost cartographer
who was looking for his path
in a book about maps.

And I will not write about writing.
I will not write about writing.
I will not write about writing.
I will not write...