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Waking into dream
























Opening my eyes, 
I thought I was still asleep. 
The place was not expected, 
was not familiar, as if the inside 
of  sleep had slipped my eyeseals 
and gone under sanity to safer ground. 
  
Often the children would come 
and today the shit smelling one, 
had clean shorts on and smiled 
briefly at me, standing between 
the boughs of a tree. 
  
The slender reach of that thin tree; 
The way it antennaed  the wind, 
not swayed, like a flat beetle,  
of faintly mottled grey, 
who tested the air,  
for how dry  
and how  
long. 
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