did you ever imagine yourself
being bound with a single thread
like a book that you once tried to write
Because you got bored reading
the one that was once stuck in your head.
Whilst sitting up on that hill
where the only stars
are in the sleepless night.
There’s a book sitting besides you
Which you were read too as a child
With Which you now make paper planes
And sing for a restful night.
a long play record playing again
Air box wafting across this room
carrying away these memories
Line after written line.
That acorn you always carry with you
Waiting to sprout in it’s little Glass jar
A time a date a place to plant you
somewhere in the world.