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.
