Feet that even in broad daylight
find obstacles besides decades
old pieces of brightly hued Lego,

So a walk across the bush on
trails that animals know from
generations of wear and tear,

In the sun and day light is all
right but, now a full and
shrouded moon makes me

dance like a

buffoon tripping in the fog,
a buffoon miming a new age
dance straining for a single
blink of approval, from the

one eye high in the sky, for the

thunder of applause would
be preceded by a flash of
lightning and I was the
tallest fool in my field,

tripping in the fog, and the full of the moon.