Tarpaulin You wake and see the landscape of your latest dream is failing fast. The high tarpaulin of its sky collapses gracefully upon it, the swirls of its geology,  those colours still unknown to man, the hills with half-remembered fauna. You get up then go back to sleep, hoping for a sort of sequel: boy outside the circus tent hunting for a corner. Geoff Page Dog Poem Dozing in the dictionary, beset by existential doubt, disused words, disconsolate as dogs, lie listlessly about until at last their mistress comes and, not quite in the mood for talk, selects the leanest…