Haunted, he wears his ghost lightly, woven on phantom air. Haunted, his dream is delighting in an old, forgotten waltz, dancing through fractured clouds, to be close, to be partnered beneath skin.
Turning, with sharpened sticks of fire, he marks the wing of the lightning. Singing, he births colours and space; dancing, he enters through broken strings of a cracked violin, to be close, to be partnered beneath skin.
Entangled in ghost tossed glances he plays his fractured dreams. Entangled in haunting, enchanted and shining he summons, from the burning borders of sleep, the cast of the moon, the wash and cry of the sea, the bright intimacy beneath skin.
Pastel Drawing and Poem by clinock