Stephen Hall

I dream.
To slather paint on canvas.
Like butter on biscuits.
Melting into pools.
Of delight.
Running off the edges.
Sweet.
Like desert honey.
Dripping from my finger tips.

I dream.
To see shapes emerge.
Like a distant desert mirage.
Shape shifting.
With the sun.
Moving motion.
In summer's heat.
Constantly coalescing.
In my mind.