SATURDAY 28 20
A bunch of nails, hard
black berries clustered among
shiny ivy leaves.
SUNDAY 29 20
It’s hard to know this
is a Sunday without the
signs of going out.
MONDAY 30 20
I still can’t work out
If the hour is earlier or
late since the clocks changed.
TUESDAY 31 20
I venture out in
an outlaw’s mask, a silk scarf
with dancers on it.
WEDNESDAY 1 20
On the tarmac a
squirrel gnaws its way through a
pomegranate shell.
THURSDAY 2 20
A new ritual
to practise, seven tablets
after my breakfast.
FRIDAY 3 20
I wish I knew the
names and colours of all these
birds from their singing.
Seventeen 