Reading Beowulf in bed last night
I dreamt of Heorot
Gales cast hard against thin glass
Thrattling the gutters, the black plastic sails
I dreamed I flew to Greenland
Inaccessible, unorganised
Someone prepared a rough questionnaire
Were whales trapped in ice floes?
And when were they scared?
I’ve had the whole flat to myself all this week
Sumptuous and silent and satisfactory
Blankets and fires are the meaning of peace
Dozing old men, imagining stories
My sea lanes are lithe with the January swells
Torques of contentment and comfort I seek
Mermaids are rising again from the deep
Strewing this cove with a garland of shells