The provisions of the day
Outside the window the premature darkness of a rolling storm sent wisps of flue steam directed away from their previous predelictions
Their swirl and curl and rise and flutter all shoved aside and southwards.
The sunset spilling o’er the newly coined immensity lit still a south and west that dared a sunset breach.
And the city in its awkward splendour, the castle regal there beyond, and even here the fine brick exterior(s), perhaps facade to feccund interior.
The streets beneath less travelled by or so a wishful thinker hoped, but each siren bore a patient prize, each car a reluctant visitor.
And from a perch as this I was set to thinking…
The rust streaked stained walls, the dust grey grating, the white bars solid to fulfil imprisonment
And in flicker of a sunlit window the laden clouds came contrasting
While from an enclosed balcony I gathered back my thoughts and looked through cracked-paned window glass
To where a child, my child lay, set to sleeping, perchance to dreaming, perchance to rest.