Off-peak

naïve of me to be surprised

at the                    quiet.

the time of year when the

vacant bay-windowed flats 

sleep off their collective hangover

and send snores of yearning down 

the street. sandfly bodies

keep me company. they 

too wait for the day when

the city wakes up, yawns, stretches,

carries with it 

the lazy return back to

what was once,

what was here before the quiet,

like chasing a dream barely remembered.

• Hannah Marshall