Stellan he wears a ragged yellow mackintosh tattered jeans with holes, shoes a size too small and you can see the stars through his soul he sends off golden galleons afloat in the night air lights the tapered candle atop the magician’s cloud cloth he is sunkissed, godgiven yet he will not be seen by lightsome noon he is your dream, an illusion of the night his fire-eyes spark to life he paints water-lilies on a wine-dark sea he is raven-coloured, anointed in ambrosia he stays to the shadow of street lamps he guards the gates of horn and ivory…