The sky threatens but the air is warm - trees wave but the rain doesn't come I am told Arctic winds from the North arrive on Friday: cold cousins from the snows I awoke from a nightmare this morning, being swallowed by a ghoul I called and called for my father, the dream- scape not allowing my voice I am bound to my choice to the heart's try - the place where I docked my bags and I on the jetty no-one here to welcome to see me arrivenext poem