A boy is playing alone in the fields
lost in the vague transparency they have become.
Music seems to emanate from the sea-green of a beetle’s wing case.
It is the drone of a fly with the same iridescence.
He places the colour as a fleck on a trout’s flank
then moves under trees out of the heat.
A warbler tries to say his name
but it whirrs in its throat.
He walks to the trout pool.
Ripples made by his grandmother add white highlights to its toned-down aquamarine.
He squints to see better and the water becomes a musk-rose pink.
The insistent invitation of the other place grows louder.
He resists then succumbs. It is akin to belonging;
feels like emptiness without the hunger.
