Friday, 7 September 2012


Morning mayhem. The tent’s buffeting
like a mountain lion. Truer than words, it rumbles.  And up
in the sky a huge grey brushstroke stands with light behind.
Today has begun.

Andrew’s asleep and dreaming, snoring,
but smiling. He stirs; begins to dream awake another few hours,
reaching for essences dancing with clay.
Hungry for magic, a boy.

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