Sunday morning half waking
Travelling through a familiar alien landscape
Drifting banks of fog
Gentle rural shapes give way
To cold harsh lines as I float into the city
So much hidden
A false calm hangs over this sleeping world
Morning will soon be blowing into town
Old and new wedded
In a perfect morning mist
Of falsehoods, fears and faith lost
September stillness
A new day waits patiently
