Poem: Pics Or It Never Happened

in the dream I opened

a very old copy of Shakespeare –

Collected Works, and in the middle

of the book, smashed within the pages

was a duck. Squashed thin, like roadkill.

I let it slide from the book to the footpath

and photographed it. I watched for a bit,

worried about leaving it there, sure it was

dead – of course. But then it started to rebuild

itself, puffin…