You left us that day waltzed off into eternity where memoires then history books (when you can no longer answer back) will ever more define your place on the turning page of dialogue, dreams and dusty places one more person categorised, loved and learnt about flowing through the ever-expanding delta of human passage and sedimentation. The pen touches and retouches the paper, hesitating, waiting, forgetting, then in one sudden flourish spouting out more Not straight lines but jagged scribbles marking the way, bounding those ideas and concepts so often rigidly and perfectly defined Deadly ends and lively beginnings we recall, yet how much more the mediocre muddle in the middle marks time, marches on, muchness.
