2D or not 2D

 I dream of old an old man in a boater

sailing East to West across a page

and, when I turn the paper he still floats there,

a silhouette, a china man, serene.

I dream a rocket takes off into space-time,

climbs across the page from South to North;

black, these silhouettes, like paper puppets

long to turn their souls into 3D.

New Year

 Rainfall in the winter

hits a rooftop, grey,

- a momentary treasure

clattering crazy slate
but, hey,
it’s running to the centre

of wells inside the garden
glassy, level, cold
until a human grasps at
meniscus, aims to cup
it up,
swigging for their pleasure

but when the pleasure’s ended
and hands have wiped a mouth,
how far that person gazes
to east, west, north and south,
for truth
and seeking purer water.