
A sweeping blue-light commands the view,
Erasing distant sunlit memories.
Tentative fingers tapping at keys,
Surrounded by mugs, piled papers and knotted charging cables.
A chaotic mind dwells here.
If the intriguing 'poetry camera' were in my hand now, that’s the kind of end product it could reveal on its tiny scroll of paper, rather than a pixelated thermal-printed image of my messy desk in a pokey, dimly-lit home office.