Balancing on the wind

Leaning on the cliff edge wind, in limbo

He watched sand running through the fingers

of his left hand into the palm of his right

He sees someone walking in a hot dry wasteland

Young, hesitant steps

Recognised her crooked fring and narrow eyes

Threadbare, summer patterned, dirty cotton flowered dress

Scratched ankles and nail bitten hands

Wanted to touch her cool brown hair

But she was gone...

And his old tired face was as still as ever

An aeroplane hummed high up in the sky

Way up above the clouds



A green teapot, a pair of boots

A broken pocket, watch and chain

A born dead baby pig

Lying, pure white... bloodless

Soft and smooth as a gloved lady's hand

A spinning wheel, a bill hook

An umbrella, empty bottles, a tin bath

A hat stand and a slate grey pill box hat

Sailed past his grabbing hands

And were gone... like the swallows



Stuttered words, stuttered words

Voices asking questions he cannot hear

Come and find us

Step back or you'll fall

But the aeroplane is humming so loud now

Trying to cling to the summer cotton

Light threadbare patterned sleeveless

Flowered dirty carnation sunflower

Sweatstained primrose threadbare

Dirty disappearing decaying flowered

Fading cotton forgotten fucking summer dress

But it was gone...

Gone like the swallows