A smell: I return to Nanna’s home,
Baths outside in sinks, toads in the bed,
Down by the Green Patch I swim and roam.

A noise: to sandstone caves we have fled,
Running from ninjas of boyhood dreams,
Playing until the sun fell overhead.

A scene: a great family trip beams,
My children laugh, my wife is all smiles,
Imagery flows on like cloudy streams.

Reality: at my desk of files,
Memories triggered in wild hope
For escape to remembered isles.