27 09 07

A restless night through the silent lightening and beneath the moon
There is a bit of a ‘cut’ coming in from the west.
Open the curtains to grey light.
Lie in bed listening to Beethoven piano concertos
Go on deck as we pass Elba.
This time Monte Christo is further to the west

Ferry journeys are a great place to ponder -
and with a trepidation returning from a fantastic place
I can see the spillage of the real world at the gates

This journey is never ending to my impatience, which in turn is my weakness
Grey skies, though a slight seepage of light away to the west

The far off clouds and distant patches of light
are as memoirs
Somewhere summer still burns
always to the west
a hole, a gap
fissure

Through to a paled china blue
where fluffy washed out naples yellow clouds bask
just beneath the curve
above where crests jagger the horizon
a small speck going somewhere south.
I go north

Genoa is dark and full of rain and street lights
so I put the hood up and out through the maelstrom that is the city
This is like driving looking through a letter box
trying to find the exit pass the prostitutes in the dark arches twice
drive up a road the wrong side
then out going east to Varreze
There is something snug about the Morgan at night in the rain.

The hotel El Chico is all 30’s modernist

I sit starched and dine
still in the hot dusty south, in my mind



I hand over my artist vows and exchange them for nonsense
The mantle piece beckons

Thoughts turning toward the returning of the job of life.

But here’s the trick, take the long way home
I will always take the long way home
Draining a fine wine to its leaves and wiping the plate clean with a mop of bread
succour and digest

The med night comes across the top of the olive trees
into my window
cooler breeze.