30th April 1671

And morning wakes me with churchbells in faraway places and lonely starfish which slumber at my feet and I know that I am home, these wasted threads of life recall longings for the person I have been and the strangest of times that I have lived through and I can see the paths of mourning which bring me to the shore, I gather lobsters as friends and awkward insects which carry wine and candles to lay me to my rest. I am confused and ready to die.


29th April 1671

And on this day I sight beasts of burden, rich in turmoil and awkward of charm walking the road ahead and I wonder where this takes us, these days of low lit sun and strangeness and rusted gates dragging sheep skulls into open fields. Out there birds are breaking clouds and  further space throws comets into orbits and we are tied to soil and dust and our own sense of nothing.