He strode young, into the landscape of old age
Waiting for the call
A miracle, waking every morning
I like pie. She likes pie. Do you like pie?
To Serve Them All My Days
And arriving with the light, there she is
The rickety footbridge
Nearby a girl sits on a tombstone
It might be Thursday
Words, words, words remain
It's not an Armadillo
Microsoft
Love's knotted under her apron now
Opening a tin of beans with a banana
Welcome to the service desk
The Special One
Six bundles, brown and vulnerable
She is able to leave her other self behind
and her hair balled tightly under her cap
Everything closes in
I think of how I lay here as a lad
BREW
The evening light falls
CHISEL
After a hammering of light
I am close to my people, the smell of wet wool
CHECK
The cafe owner, an Italian
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