Him who said " its deep"
Foamed around the mouth to dip thoughts and distil ideas for us to relish the sweetness of solitary labor
I see the dangling camera sling
I hear the click of the camera,so sleek
I can hear his rebuke "having a camera doesn't make you a photographer", cigarette dangling, while Dot cries "whereas" gangly uncombed with sharp tongue fused with erudition
This time with no guitar
Wide smile with a spade on hand dig the depth of deep, he speaks "its deep"
I remember this piece,I remember the spring on his heels when stage was set
His was to document and inscribe memory on stone
Use voice, ink and papyrus to move you
Let you feel and respond to the beauty and complexes of life,his was endless solitary labor
He served, his work will remind us of the depth he gorged in our lives