The journey to the sea is not that easy,
never the simple escape my wandering
soul desires. I do go there in my dreams,
easing the strain of daily arts commuting
with music older than amber, pre-dating
life with sounds of water washing on stone.
I imagine the journey that carries me
closer, closer yet always further from the
defining moments of love that create,
colour, recreate. In tidal waves
of emotional inspiration the making
ebbs and flows, finally appearing; bowing
only to acknowledge the perseverant.
My practice flames like the sun, like love,
the ending inconceivable, unfinished;
a creative compulsion integral to
the journey, the practice that is me.