Dear Readers,

I have had a second blood transfusion. I should be bouncing off the walls with strength and energy. But I'm not, at least not yet. I have new poems, of wind and blue gorse, and a saint I love. But tonight I am too tired to dictate words of beauty to a silent sleeping world. I feel strained, sort of stretched. My red blood cells are haemolysing, breaking up. I have lived on hope for so long, have I worn it thin?