It's Still Life

5:30am, 2 May — Newhaven Ferry Terminal

the house still holds night
in its corners.

kettle breath,
zips closing,
the quiet certainty
of leaving.

by eight,
the ferry will loosen the land
from beneath us.

sea widening
like a thought
we’ve decided to follow.

I have packed
for French rain,
for winds that speak lightly,

and left a small, deliberate space

for tins of sardines
in lemon olive oil,

sun caught in metal,
waiting
to come home

next week.

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