You always point out the other
World behind the clouds
As if you have been there.
When I sit in the library
Moaning to dead poets
And trying to remember
Not to forget next time
I imagine you in a tower
Stretching muscle
Fine-pointed limbs like
Branches aching with leaves,
And you reach further
Than could ever try.
Yesterday you finally
Caught the sun in your eyes.
But then it ran
And you ran after
Forgotten letters
Claiming the forest.
By Esme Garlake
Blueprint 