Dreaming in a field.



Standing as a stone,
in the mud and dawn light,
aceeed, aceeed,
born blown to the breeze,
gambling with a tease.

Scarlet and light blue,
something to do,
wishing and scheming,
the kettle steaming.

Freaks of the shires,
sparrows on wires.

The flashing fire of razor walls,
near the concrete bunker,
talking to a quiet American sergeant,
in the big tent.

The curtain rent,
in this light day,
all memories a May,
celebrating the way.

Afghani children are taking up skateboarding,
all the wind surfers dip their sails,
into the gold and green of the setting sun.

 

~