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Poem

I used to dream of yellow mud,
well more like yellow water
stained with yellow ochre 
clay, so vast, in it I felt so good.

In this I swam, just like an eel,
in creamy dream of yellow
feel; other people swam about
as shoals of fish , or netted trout.

Ochre pressed against my skin
like custard spread on rubber thin,
I spun my body round and round
like a crocodile does in his pound.

In this dream, I felt so free
the me in there, was the me in me,
shoals that swam around my pond, 
were souls, unfound, on solid ground.

Decades pass and I can see,
the me in there, that’s the me in me,
but nowhere now can I retrieve,
that creamy, dreamy fantasy.

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