Balancing on the windLeaning on the cliff edge wind, in limboHe watched sand running through the fingersof his left hand into the palm of his rightHe sees someone walking in a hot dry wastelandYoung, hesitant stepsRecognised her crooked fring and narrow eyesThreadbare, summer patterned, dirty cotton flowered dressScratched ankles and nail bitten handsWanted to touch her cool brown hairBut she was gone...And his old tired face was as still as everAn aeroplane hummed high up in the skyWay up above the cloudsA green teapot, a pair of bootsA broken pocket, watch and chainA born dead baby pigLying, pure white... bloodlessSoft and smooth as a gloved lady's handA spinning wheel, a bill hookAn umbrella, empty bottles, a tin bathA hat stand and a slate grey pill box hatSailed past his grabbing handsAnd were gone... like the swallowsStuttered words, stuttered wordsVoices asking questions he cannot hearCome and find usStep back or you'll fallBut the aeroplane is humming so loud nowTrying to cling to the summer cottonLight threadbare patterned sleevelessFlowered dirty carnation sunflowerSweatstained primrose threadbareDirty disappearing decaying floweredFading cotton forgotten fucking summer dressBut it was gone...Gone like the swallows