Spring cleaning fountains.

filthy bootstraps on a well trodden photocopied path 

look amongst these Latin names for birds

to cross swords in dreams 

fishing in rippling rock pools 

on which i now tread and then wash my feet 

on these black and white numbered tiles 

seven across ten down whilst hill climbing 

in search of a lost ruined tower 

in which to hide a illuminated written mind

And gated steps.