Then he saw the wooded hill
With water lighting through.
It was pretty, didn’t need a path.
He mattered less.
And it was falling slowly
More slowly and then less.
It seemed like time had stopped
And yet was catching him.
They had him held and gripped
He winked at them.
“Turn me into snail shells
Turn me into sea
Throw me at the anything
That you think that I should be.”
Stuart Knowles
aiurea press 