That fire, they said, was red as red as red
as red as a fox, your lips, a cherry;
that fire, they said spread and spread and spread,
faster than a cheetah or a nasty rumour;

Now we're up on the edge

and over, on the mountain

with mountains beyond. Behind us,

            in the dark

of the valley, villages are embers

I am the word juggler.
I juggle the words
like swords.
I slice sense
with poetic license.

We're floating into the blue,
Me and my blue balloon.
Over the rooftops of the town,
The brown fields and the trees
And the Downs – we're floating,

Miss Flotsam was my reception teacher.
She had travelled the world.
Brown hair turned golden
under distant suns,
clothes carrying colours

Itty-bitty. Bat. Tittle-tattle. Tat
Shilly-shally. Shout. Dilly-dally. Out
Willy-nilly. Woo. Silly Billy. Boo!
Roly-poly. Rip. Pitter-patter. Pip

There is a place (believe me,

            she said) where if, if

                          you go beyond

the street lights, to the lane's end,

All you see is outside me: my painted smile,
the rosy-posy shell, the fluttery eyes.
A butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth-type me

                   ...not white like the snow

more moon-panther or silvery cloud-cat

with her ripple-patterns melting as (oh,

but she's beautiful) you stare

This is the kingdom of the Water Bear.

To enter here, you have to shrink

and slow down, down. A day

is one tick of the clock, one blink