All the missing pieces
are marked by empty time.
And empty kinds of places
make for empty frame of mind.
My mind is full of fullness -
of time and times gone by
lacing all the streets I wandered
with laughter and with love.
An isle of memories remains -
a-head I wonder on
the streets that have been laundered
dry of memorabilia.
This place is waiting to be filled,
I know this in my head.
But in the streets of far away,
my heart is dis-placed instead.
And empty kinds of places
make for empty frame of mind.
A chronicle of nose growth
'...changing the form of one's mission's almost as difficult as changing the shape of one's nose:
they are, each, in the middle of one's face and one's character - one has to begin too far back.'
― Henry James. The Portrait of a Lady.
