I dreamt that I smelt
of ancient aqua velva
and unwashed clothing.

Swinging a claw hammer
getting the roof on
between winter rains.

It felt good doing
something tangible
with the time I have.

And then it was gone,
the dreaming all done,
while the morning remains.

It is National Novel Writing month – and well I don’t write Novels but I do try to write novel poetry. One a day for November!