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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Arrival at Midnight

In the midnight,
the little boy opens his eyes.
He cannot define his journey.
Night stays by the window.
He dreams of a single flower,
a mother’s face,
the air heavy with its own perfume,
and I find him,
fluff and feathers.
His mother comforting his astonishment,
his unnatural wakefulness,
his false dawn,
having arrived,
being put back in his own nest of comforters.

Gone for five nights,
a child’s long hiatus,
full of night blossoms,
soft, with his grandfather’s voice.
An ancient armory of meadows,
songs, in the softness of his voice,
reassuring the boy he is loved,
at home,
near to the warmth of a white magnolia,
the sweetness of strawberries.

Safe with parents,
with the old man’s eyes
giving him absolution,
the comfort of his hum,
the waves of an old sea,
huge for him.
For his dreams,
for returning to a peaceful bed,
made of petals and milk,
and the honey of silence,
with his mother.
Like a warm river of dreams
coming from the south,
turning the night
into a dance of peace and valleys.

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