In those evenings by a red sea
I would often gaze west
and see the tiger’s eye
staring over its den of desert hills
...
Thirty six years of a summer sun
have faded the gloss of fishing boats
...
The sky is liquorice black
its stars are simply stars
its air as cold as it’s over
...
She could
without even trying
hold a star in the palm of her hand
and with just a touch more imagination
...