Peter Pan

You come in the door with wind in your eyes
and a fish under your arm
dreaming of the sky.

Dirt under your nails, you dig up something to eat
and cut a flower for the table,
singing to the dishes left over from lunch.

You strut and pose
declaim and proclaim
posit and argue
speak and talk
play and cajole
think and write.

You are fragile and uncertain,
seeking affirmation
and one thousand other things.

It is not your shadow that worries you.

- London, April 2009