Entranced by the florid improvisations of the ancient tongue I sense a path projecting through time, a hole in the soft-focus mist a garden of jewelled delights hidden by a worn masculine hand as overhead the pterodactyl hammers itself into the cloud cream . . .
A face protected by a shell-like fan projecting feathers long before the businessman entered the city, bowler-hatted a spray of diamonds arced the eye of the courtesan and the lights of the harem pierce the veil of remembrance.
Victorian London winks like an eye in a glass ashtray the soldiers march through the streets to the moralist's war; a tree hung with trinkets in a prem- onition of springtime an artificial silence a-sprung which becomes only the moneyed.
In the elevated soul, a labyrinth with no centre and the sense of falling through a history of encounter yet the blood stain on the shirt sustains matter while all around us the walls of Jericho collapse.
