FISHING AT FOUR
DOWN ALICE'S HOLE


Like a bucket in some
child's room, painted up
with stars, and the curling
word 'dreams,' I want to
go fishing. On moonlit


streams of water, silkily
rushing over stones. I


want my feet to slide softly
into the river, no noise, only


moonlight and ripples.
I'll cast the long line far,


baited with a bit of dreams
from that child's bucket,


and expect a bite, sometime
around next Tuesday.

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More to come, they need editing! Oi!

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Midsummer, in the year 133 MA.