
filmmaker/photographer Azul Serra reporting from the Libyan border.
The mist guided her across the hills,
Her long purple dress mingling with the clover in the long grass
And she could hear the sheep but not see them.
They were all lost to her on that cold mountainside;
The dampness seeped in and she realised they were calling for her,
But she no longer knew the way home.
The crystal door handle was cradled in my hand
The waves threw themselves against the beach
And an old face sat in a deck chair, eyelashes blue, and smiled at me.
I kissed the top of his shaven crown and smiled,
Remembering afternoons of ice-cream and laughter.
I was happy.
It was only when I woke I remembered he was dead.
BBC have axed Rufus Sewell drama Zen. The word muppets comes to mind. They recommission Luther and axe this. Oh dear.

