I just realised that I miss postmarks; those sometimes almost illegible inky blotches stamped on letters by the post office person who processed the letters we sent or received-when we used to send and receive letters. It seems now the only letters we receive aren’t letters at all. They’re reminders to pay the car registration, […]

The photograph, the title, the name, are not the thing.
The cover, the case the sleeve is not the thing.
Nor is the CD, the LP or the file or tape – not the words or the music, the melody, the song or symphony.
The early morning light formed into golden fingers by the silhouetted leaves and branches of a tree, reflected and refracted by a trillion tiny droplets of cool floating foggy dew captured in the frame of a half opened window and mingled with the curling smoke of sandalwood – the untouchable, unnameable present.

Autumn leaves

Streetlight lamplit autumn coloured leaves
Rustle and huddle together
Scarlet cheeks shying away,
from the cool morning breeze’s,
amorous advances

The skyline, streaked with cloud wisps,
awaits the hand of the sun,
to draw the signature of the day