Sometimes I think of
Montauk, or of other
memories I somehow have,
Then I stop thinking, start
listening, let memory
lose its continuity
and live in the imagery given;
I have never been to Montauk.
How now, odd as nostalgia
enthralls, he quietly asks:
What would Percy do?
That son of Poseidon
remains a favourite hero of mine.

Might as well love the rain, its
pitter-patter upon my window
comforts today's aches
and tomorrow's pains.