Sharp at five
A cock crew.
The call came from
A great distance,
From the west so it seemed,
From the ocean
And the drowned farms.
It hung in the still air
And faded and was gone.

I thought of Peter
In his sleepless night
Seated by the courtyard fire,
Wishing it would consume him,
Wishing he could undo the night.
Alas, there was no going back,
No possible retrieval,
Day was breaking,
And was already moving
To its terrible conclusion.