Death mask.

Would you wash your well worn death mask 

Made of all those orchard grown dreams 

before coming back to earth having 

hidden what you stole in trees.

.

Alone in the night on the Salem tiles 

Creeping along the rooftop toothless 

Smiles trying to hide behind blacked 

out blinds whilst timing the torch 

until charred.

.

If you awake in the night are you to explain 

a summer spent Staring at maps binding 

you too sea charts.

.

The river called to enquire if you could reed 

your way back on a blade of grass 

to signal back your intent on this 

line to to watch the field charge.

.

The blue sky’s are often lined in the softest 

silver clouds imagine climbing to the summit 

to chase after what is hidden In the stratosphere.