And then he thinks he finally got it right--
it's a remnant from a dream--no thinking now--
jumps up from bed, grabs the pen on the bedstand,
gets it down: ten jagged lines whose truth
makes him shiver from the back of his neck.
He walks away, talks with his wife, makes tea,
comes back. No! No! Those kids!
Where are they? They tricked me again!
That pen with the vanishing ink!
Gerald Fleming
Contents | Mudlark No.
3
| 30 | 32 |