of distorted futures and vacant pasts,
he glided above half familiar roof-tops
making diminishing progress with each stroke
until the air took on the consistency of glue,
not daring to look back, but sensing the destruction
in his mind’s eye; tracking the trajectory
of each projectile on its lazy arc across the low
green hills and conversing with someone
he hadn’t seen in twenty years of yesterdays,
he woke,
and for a brief moment – frozen in eternity –
he was unsure whether he’d passed from
reality to fantasy, or simply opened his eyes.
John H Davies
21st January 2011
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