A poem by Katherine Hunter
The invisible people wander around
through tales of birds and hollows unfound
They serve copper dishes and twitter to ghosts
they scamper on roofs built by their hosts
The boy sits upon his throne
where the wind swirls and howls,
and cuts through bone
As the mighty thorned giant stares ahead
its gaze follows the striped King who walks on
with eyes white and dead.
He disappears into the scent of frosted flowers
fading into falling blue and golden showers.
But still, nobody listens and nobody knows
about the tales written by the girl
in orange-blossom clothes.
Maan Atelier 