In a white storm the trees were whipping
back and forth and you dreamt or thought you dreamt
you were adrift on a lake, high hills all around
your hair plastered to your face and
the hills were groaning, they were hill-high waves
you were right in the O now, the middle letter of storm
with the waves falling in from all sides and you
were a singularity until you slicked out
drained down some surreal chute
one lick from the tongue of a capital Q
and wound out on a beach in uncanny silence
unthreatening shreds of cloud in the east
red rags in the dawn and unless again
you bang down your cup on the café table
this was another trick you were still
drowning, calling, the calm phase
once you've given up but no
you could feel your feet still in the water, face dry
doors were banging in a sudden hot wind
a new storm and this was coming from inside you
you opened your mouth
and out came the fire
Geoff Sawers
Geoff Sawers lives in Reading. He is the author of 'Silver in my Mines: Peter Hay's work for Two Rivers Press' (University at Buffalo, NY, 2021) and is working on a book about the Welsh writer Dorothy Edwards. He has published work recently in Culture Matters, The Times Literary Supplement and Unstamatic. Born in 1966, he was only diagnosed as autistic in his fifties. His paintings are on Instagram @geoff.sawers
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