He had keys for doors that no longer existed and kept them anyway, sorted by the year the building came down. On Sundays he laid them out on the…

In the relentless rush of the world, I find my rhapsodic retreat, slipping into headphones, a musical melody so sweet, symphony & cadence cocooned, a…

Desk, a silent stage, pen & paper, instruments of a forgotten age, in solitude's stark shadow, he is the final fading sage, writing pages of poetry,…