Between darkness and darkness, through a gap
in blackout curtains, I watch the washed-out
northern sun as it crawls, like an albino
spider across a gable of bone-white brick –
listen to the pair with nothing to say
to each other, sit on the wall and say
it at length – imagine a world where all
directions matter, not only here, only

north, only you as you drew me: magnet
to my compass; lighted mead-hall to my

sparrow, in its moment out of the night.