June.

Peeks of sun tease through the bedroom curtain,
whispering leaf shadows on the wall.
The first day it feels like hope, where
light and warmth remind me of
summer mornings before primary school.
No more morning darkness, or
stumbling like foals into the gloom,
but a stretch in bed with
shards of sun on straying limbs,
warmth beginning to bloom.
The coo of pigeons sing to me on the windowsill.
Come to me, day, I am ready for you:
come June, June, June.