Woven on phantom air.
Haunted, the dream is descending.
Singing, with pointed sticks
He marks the wing of the lightning.
Entangled in ghost tossed clouds
He follows his fractured dreaming.
Entangled in haunting, enchanted,
He summons the cast of the moon,
The wash and cry of the sea,
From the burning borders of sleep.
Poem and pastel drawing by Clinock