The port city and it’s secrets, The Sicilians drapes hung in the… The ghosts beyond the limestone wa… The sad holy brush of James Walsh… The sanctity of the unknown,

We are like pebbles on a beach. Brought by the tide, yet not born from it. Sitting, and waiting,

Etched, in the valleys of the moon, staring from or to. Blazing the night, The autumn heat returns,

The doubt of spring, makes winter warm, when all is cold is now gone, The sparkle of night, and the seasons change,

I remember youth and senses, the smell and touch. Fascinated by breathing, in and out. Sunday walks,

She blazes and burns a beautiful m… grabs life’s hand and drags it wit… Never too close, to love it wholly, Yet close enough,

Wake to the sun on fire, a wandering wisp of a dream, In it’s forgotten desire, a candle… as a sonnet sings sentiment as bri… What is a plum situation,

It takes balls, hell, it takes every inch, to keep spinning. To talk of flowers, or the death,

You have to, jump in with the sharks. They won’t eat you, unless you let them. You dodge and dive,

My father talked often, of what went wrong, who his father was, Who he is as a father, Long drawn out conversations,

Soon as the sun, as life becomes d… I flow with a heart, all the worst… No more can I mourn, myself as I… It’s bright and it’s sad, but toda… like the years gone before, or the…