He’s a sheep
in the pre-school nativity sitting with
his hind legs crossed on a gym class floor mat.
His eyes are focused.
His hips are dancing.
His woolly back is a long sleeve T-shirt
clinging to his chest like song lyrics
to a three-year-old brain.
The hall is a time machine for the adults:
a chance to see a small face like theirs stuck
to a body willing to run into an unknown field
and see how far it can stretch.

Carl Burkitt 2023