You may find this funny but I once had a dream about pay toilets. I walked up, handed my root clod to God, the door came open and then closed behind me. I sat down and began to read the graffiti; "Em all" said one and "Maelstrom chronicles" another, "Introspect the bottomless key" and "Will this all come up again tomorrow?" This last was written on the handle which when depressed revealed another little sign which said "NO!"

"Thank you God" I said as I left the stall. "Your welcome Buckwheat" he replied. The words echoed.

As I was waking from this dream I found myself wondering whether it was a reminiscent image of the midnight diaper change or the real thing. Maybe I'll be more like the trees tomorrow and live on sunlight I pondered. Just then I heard my mother's kind voice. "Time to wake up" she said. "I'm already awake" I said as I got out of bed.

Cinnamon and black grey
breaks the summer's doze
the voice gives away
it's sitting somewhere close.

The shade of a mango tree
that rests the wings from sun
breaks the day busy
to a lonely space for one.

In its eyes black bead dark
solitude wears a skin
a sadness makes its mark
of a silent cry within.

It dips beak deep for preens
cleanse that's daily a chore
another day quick spins
shadows are longer more.