Expansion

The boiler kicks on with a shuddering groan.

It’s three in the morning, the first of the frost.

The pipes start to hammer a language of bone,

calculating the heat and the sleep that I’ve lost.

A flake of the silver is curling away,

dry as a wing and as thin as a thread.

The iron is ticking in shades of the grey,

shaking the floorboards underneath the bed.

It’s not a resolution, just a frantic demand.

The steam is a pressure that’s looking for room.

I lay in the dark with a cold, open hand,

listening to the metal inside of the gloom.