Most days he shuffles back-and-forth,
and in corner of his mind he scratches
notes from the past. All is grey and empty.
He fills his time contemplating wins and losses,
sketching memories of what and who he was.
The land is desert and stillborn.
 
Outside green fields are wide, purple heather
oceans deep enough to dive in.
Children clamour, like spider monkeys
up and over bales of hay,
laughing as they spring, the sky above
picassos over their haloed heads.

© Taidgh Lynch

day 1 | 19 September 2011