We roll down sand hills, distantly illumined by the lights of Nelson Bay, which twinkle like love on the tide, and I feel within the sense of surreal films, Led Zeppelin, and a kind of Neolithic loving pride. As we return, she shows me an angel, riding above the moon, And this is true, I swear, as true as tune. Her wishes all come true, she says, as if Fate served her
clear-cut cold as old prophetic rune. Her wishes, may they come as full and light as rolling down a dune, may they be bright as diamonds, and may they all come soon. My Neri and my Liam, I see them dancing in the water, the blue of wonder, the night all still and glassy as forests after thunder, and Wendy, who’s a Princess, with a mind so keen and bright, standing still and tall in the quiet lunar light. - Peter J Brown © 2022. Issue 47 - July 2022
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