That Place
That place, fond and grey,
So quick to come to mind;
How I see you for your fragrant Morton fig!
And the grassy knoll and ancient mortar
And painted lines on faded paths
Your memory a loose-thread patchwork
Woven within the stories of my soul
Filed under 
Marcel Avenue
I spent one lonesome afternoon
Travelling down Marcel Lane;
Like the plight of a pilgrim,
Forever seeking my pendulum,
I come far to wash my faith clean
And to pray for blessed clarity
Here, where all good things reside
The City Moves
Dragging soles,
Rust, dust and mortar
Where an eye for an eye
Meets the twisted thread
Of a darkened alleyway
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