Morning stole upon the night,
melting the darkness.
There were cockerels,
too many,
like a jeweller’s window
full of clocks.

Before eight,
the path divided
and he chose
the less popular route

which went on to run
along the fringes
of deep woodland
whose trees he did not recognise.

Later,
although he regretted
not having picked a leaf
to glue in his notebook,

he convinced himself
that some kind of ignorance
is always necessary.