We come from the sun

We come from the Sun,
they say to me,
from the wrong side of my ear.
But why?
Why for?
I mumble in cotton.
For answer,
they show their hands,
See. See our thumbs.
They are wide.
Splayed and strong.
We will gentle you,
raise you from the gorge.

Life is but a dream.


Art by Michael Richardson

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