In the dream that has me,
he throws the ball
and I follow its beautiful arc
leaping in glorious barefoot slowmo
over dunes and marram grass hurdles,
through the jetsam-strewn high tide mark
to execute the perfect airborne catch
by the very very water’s edge,
framed like a champion by the rolling sea
and the lazy turbines applauding in the distance.
I turn to throw the ball back
but he’s no longer there to catch it.
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