There’s a bright star,

high in the sky.

It’s 3am again,

and I’m driven to wake,

to write

Like an owl I stay awake,

listening to cars,

passing.

So few in these days,

often in the past,

there would be footsteps,

or shouting.

Now there is silence,

deep in this city,

only the odd murmur of traffic.

The click and whir of central heating,

the maniacal hum of the fridge,

the oil heater thermostat kicking in.

Freezing night,

3am,

too early for the dawn chorus.

The rest of the city sleeps, perhaps….

Unsettled dreams

Of corn fields,

clay fields,

beaches and trees,

freedom,

escape from imprisonment,

at 3am I shall sleep.