He walked a thousand miles
the boy with pebbles in his mouth.
Wild his hair, moon-spun from
the desert songs his mother sung,
his feet are dust and water
saffron, salt and cardboard
and you can see yourself reflected
in the forest of his mica eyes.
but where can tin-boys find a home,
where windows still are frozen?
Shay asks us to use imagery in poetry at toads. I hope this works.
March 30, 2018