Written back in 2006 when I moved into a caravan.

Look at my home!
So flimsy, so fragile
The timbers thin as a bubble,
Frail as tissue paper skin hung
On a wire skeleton
Like a kite in the autumn air,
A montgolfier in the sky
A Chinese lantern, set to sail
The dark river, with a prayer of light
A paper boat, stuffed with dreams
A shadow theatre made of sheets and lamps,
A circus tent, billowing magic,
It is a frail and perfect thing, my home
A drum beneath the rain,
A flag upon the wind
It shrinks from fire
But fills with warmth
   from only a candle flame
So sensitive, so permeable, so safe
The perfect home for the artist poet
Seeking farer weather and kinder winds.