Meanwhile, a man leaves his bed
to comfort a child who has had a bad dream.
Look, he says, carrying her to the window –
nearly morning. Shall we go downstairs?
One-handed, fills the kettle, flips it on,
his daughter pressed against his shoulder, warm.
Breakfast, clothes, brush teeth and hair,
a ride to nursery, back upstairs,
pause at the window. Empires closing down.
