In the Small Hours

In the small hours
the ones one sleeps through with pleasure
snuggling as though
eating gold chocolate coins
at Christmas
or lying in a warm bath
like a fat bear in summer grass

In the not yet dawn
a neighbours alarm goes off
and one thinks
its too early for commuting
and I heard no car
so no taxi to the airport
is it real, a burglar
when someones on holiday
or worse a fire and no one is rushing to help
so one turns on a light
because it might be a power cut
and in any case a burglar would see it

And then I settle again
with kitten wrapped around my hand
And dream of papers arriving
somehow from my Father
dead several years now
in the dream they are things found
slipped behind a shelf and sent on
a letter in his terrible handwriting
a leaflet for this or that