An old belonging...

I bought the John Birnside poetry collection "Black Cat Bone" which won the TS Eliot Prize last year.

Opened it randomly at one called "Bird Nest Bound":

"I wake next day, at first light, bleared with the sense of having been someone else,

not in the dream so much as in
the fit between sleep and waking.

the true self walking away, through a woodland clearing,
the air so still, it seems he's chanced upon

an old belonging, something he couldn't believe
til now:
Safe sweet home, sweet home, through that shinin' star

And I wake, in the cage of my bones,
on the same cold ground."

Breathtaking. I think I'm going to love these poems.