There is a darkness
To the five AM rising
A silence, which some might say
Is due to it still being the middle of the night
There is a freedom
To the earlier start
An ease, which is hard to pin down
Other than life feels easier
No need, none whatsoever
To run hither and thither
Instead to calmly fry the beans
And tip them slowly onto the buttered toast
No change here, from solitude
Or with bookish contemporaries
For to be alone is to be alive
Knowing just how good it is to exist
Yet it is not moorland
Out the windows behind me
Neither a rolling sea
To pound my coastline
I am in the urban landscape
Singing about the urban spaceman
I am in the comfort of my homestead
Thinking of what on earth to say next
