The morning after

You wake to police sirens rushing away 
the day, the disembodied eye of a glass 

of water on the bedside table. Your hands 
are gullied with grief, the sky is veined

with a heron’s delicate blue. You still 
haven't repaired the smashed photo frame —

its fractured legs asking for more time, 
while you stagger out of bed like a foal 

that's forgotten how to walk, a pommel 
horse convinced it's a colt.