a fog rolled in
with its misty grey memories
of a cypress-lined shore
the bark of the lions
screech of the gulls
the slow knock
of the mooring
against the hull
of my old home

I spent many days there
listening to cassettes
on the old car radio
that Grandfather mounted up
in the corner of the galley

I spent many nights there
reading by kerosene light
as the tapes wore thin,
a suitable stand-in of camaraderie,
wondering what future held
while watching that fog
as it rolled in


well, the future is here
and I'm still listening
to the songs and sounds
that reach out from the past
to shine their light
and dispel the grey