I follow thoughts that lead me to despair.
I take their hands and turn them. We head home.
They show me homes that are no longer there
if they ever were. Despair strips comfort bare.
Be rational, I think. That makes things worse.
At the end of time clear vision is a curse.
The jackdaw lands before me, caws my name.
It enquires why I am wasting hours moping.
‘You’re alive. Why are you kicking? You’re not lame
except in chances that you let escape by hoping
for a perfect world you are proof does not exist.’
I try to think things through. The jackdaw flies
before me. Wings beat on my dismal thoughts
until they are exposed for what they are.
I laugh and chase the morning and the bird.