Morning Poem by Leslie Philibert

This is the half time between night and morning,
a wasted time, so climb over the wire,

a foreign arm smuggled on to my body, then gone,
copper light everywhere in my bedroom and a bird tape running,

ghosts banging bins and roaring, a half moment,
there are demanding voices, the start locked down,

observations out of myself, the stained paint on the ceiling
pictures of people from the middle of the earth