Torn space through the prism of a legend
where the dogs run through confused light,
where the twisted fallen trees beckon,
where the tracks of an old route laboured
by miners snakes, stumbling over
the rusted iron stanchions of an old gate.
There’s a glade where nothing grows-
where the aliens landed.
Lights dancing through the confused trees,
sprites of old, peering around damp nettles
and piles of dog piss wet leaves; let’s dance
around the place from whence I had the
calling, dreaming of a new life
amongst the stars.
