Artist Statement: I sleep in the valley
of mist and old men,
of dragons in silver
that swim in the wind.
Wild horses that run
to the brake and the bend;
to the freedom of fire and speed without end.
In the deep of its tone, the touch of its light,
its heat burns my eyes
but my shadow repents.

The light brings the edge
of all that I know.
The light is the hand
that holds nothing but smoke.
It is all I can grasp in this valley of souls.

I watch from a distance
atop a crumbled stone wall,
as the evening is claimed
to its fiery grave of pine wood and stone.
I wait to protect
the virtue of words
from other mens stories
of colours and glory.
Their truths and their lies,
their gold and their gain.
Their graves lie wet,
forgotten,
in the dazzling rain.

I sleep in the Valley
with my soul and my books
and listen to the rainfall
in this valley of ghosts.

-- Michael Robinson

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