Someone said

Made of clay or it was yesterday,
the colours seem to collide and my
eyes melt into the scenery,

but somehow soft
like the sand or
the donkey shit.

I could rebuild it but it wouldn’t
be the same,
would forget the original name
as I too would be forgotten.

Shadows here get very tired
moving forever in the shifting heat,
laying down a beat
musical shades?

but it all escapes me as I go inside,
in place to be is the place to hide
from those outside..

Definitely concrete
one more beat and
evening comes
a bit less heat
I feed the donkey
he haws,

© 2018, John Smallshaw.