Time as got by the caravels, is a fluid motion propelling us forward

and in a hopscotch moment, time leapt ahead by one hour of the morning clock.

I am again in the shadow of a church where the dour looks of fanciful figures
carved by loving hands from unforgiving material weigh heavily on my shoulders.

The street sweeper who tells me his name is Stephen stops for a while to whisk a cigarette from the depths of a long tunic.

Another artist to depose other artists.

We talk of change and will the weather hold true, I offer a sip from my flask, he offers one from his, a most wonderful way to open these tired shutters onto an as yet unseen day.

The old lady arrives with cheese and wine, I think she remembers, I think of breakfast, two cards silently placed in her hand and she smiles, later I wondered if I should have intervened and perhaps the impossible task is the only one possible for her day,
the minutes flick my eyes as the sun lifts its own.

But it is still calm for this hour, for this Holy Easter Day.

No children yet to speckle the breast of innocent air,

and no owl today,
I look to where but no hoot from there and I ponder more deeply as the sun rises higher and my body sinks lower.

Soon she wakes too,
'reasons to ask if you care then to answer', she says.
I have no answer to answer and stay silent.

A kiss on the Rose of her lips
as we are and become two ships sliding fluidly across an ocean of time.