Sometimes in sleep I walk the forest, wrapped in bear-skins,
Giving voice to tree and river, sky and stone.
Or ride a clean-limbed horse across the high dun prairie
Tuned in to the silent song of wind-washed grass.
Of nights my restless mind runs frantic through lampless streets,
A blade in every shadow, I will not speak;
Nor of sheet-twisting hours caught on some lightning-laced cliff,
My eyes and soul drawn ever towards the drop.
Today I wake to sun, empty roads, the west wind’s kiss.
What dream could conjure such a world, or promise?
Loving the doha, so just one more before I move on to something else! The first two lines were given to me by my friend, mentor and inspiration Thomas Davis, for whom no praise is too high, or expression of gratitude sufficient. N.