I find my skin
hiding in the attic,
dusty with memories.
I almost dive through the door then and there,
but I am sensible,
and it is a long way to fall.
‘Twas a robin told me
where most skins are kept,
as in the garden I wept for something I could barely recall.
I’d always thought of myself as
a dreamer. One who keeps precious things
like wishes and prayers
safe in their pocket
ready to pull out and savour
whenever the sun blinks.
Turns out I’d left them in the wrong pockets.
Who forgets which skin their Dreams are dwelling in?
I found my sealskin in the attic,
dusty with memories
and weighed down with half-eaten dreams.
Funny thing about dreams;
the teeth marks come right out with
a bit of love and elbow grease.
~11th November 2017