The Bench

The Bench

When I am dead, I would like a bench,
One with my name, birth and death upon.
I wonder how my life could be
Summed up on a gold plate neatly
Loving memory suggesting the wildness of my soul
But still maintaining that safe, humble structure of a bench,
That welcomes people to sit and stop a while. 
 

The Harbourside

The Harbourside

The Break-Up

The Break-Up