Halfway Home

I am halfway home
at half past four,
by the clock on the tall church tower.
It's halfway through January
and a half moon shines.

Half-heartedly, I set off,
but now my heart is full:
it will be spring any hour.
If I look hard, seek sanctuary
from winter, I half see the signs.

And the wind is from the west ...

poem © Celia Warren 2011