A ship slips by on the sinking sunset,
On the mist-smeared line between ocean and sky.
A shadow-puppet shape, flat and grey,
A ghost ship sliding over pink-smudged skies.
From Fremantle t…
My father was always there in the background of my life, solid, sunbitten, at times more a shape than a personality. He was born, grew up, worked and died on the same piece of land – a gusty h…