He had sweet eyes. The type that change seasons. The type you can’t find but stumble upon in a restaurant somewhere…

Belay, belay. Send back the waves, Untie the rocks from their creviced hides, Iron out the burnished sea, And swallow the mists that close the sky.

Wild undulations like ghostly apparitions, shape-shifting through daylight.

The disquiet of a heart in the presence of such untempered spirits. Faeries, Demons, Knaves dance upon a broken body…

You showed me a blank page and said - let’s start afresh, write a story - you and me.

Climb, climb ye dastard host, Climb like the vine o’er the earth, Though burned and cracked, We yearn our path, And spring to fruit, Given half a chance.