Mains Switch

Early days, it's always early days

until it's too late, until that morning -

drear from the stillest night -

weighted down with sleep.

Eyes open like torpedo hatches.

Where was the sun's slant light,

the creaks as the oven cools?

Whither the beauty of snowflakes

this new heat dispatches?

Even this, finding some words,

fails as the day breaks.

Hour by hour, joining things up

slowly undoes and unspools.