week

seven-day’s
wonder

flowing
where once
it ebbed

saturday

being
released
normal service
to be resumed
when the minutes
have gone un-clocked
and the hours without end
sneak past midnight
till dawn is
broken

sunday

a

kirk

spire

against 

blue sky points 

to a heaven of mystery 

more distant than weather 

or the weathercock spinning 

monday

clocks dominate

the grey dawn skyline 

the small hours fade 

tuesday

wake
as appointed

rise up and go
wherever they tell you
it is morning or afternoon

wednesday

mercurial

in its rising 

eloquent until

silence falls 

after all the days before

for all those that now

must follow

thursday

one day 

marking time

as tedious to go back

as go on to the bitter end

where everything 

begins