This is the time of night

when freight trains start to rumble past

and flicker their electric lights

and let off their sharp blasts.

I’d just got off to sleep at last,

it seems, but now awake

I want to conjure up a bird,

for you, a lapwing, a corncrake,

a teal – those ones you’ve heard

me list before. Without a word

I’ll bring it to the bed,

this quiet living thing, this gift

of air, and set it by your head,

and add my own and drift

towards slumber. For what else could lift

me off to sleep except

a grounded bird to keep an eye

on our light bodies – unslept -

exhausted by suprise,

two timid fledglings in the sky?