Sausalito to Tobermory

Leaving the Taj Mahal, treading the boardwalk, heading to Cibo…coffee…still caught up in love’s drowsiness and worn out ideas of a life ever after, I come to turn these silences, these momentary hallucinations into words.

It’s not hard to write about a certain magic in Sausalito — the ferry ride, yacht masts, Valhalla and Ferlinghetti to Tobermory and the tinkers cart, the cobble streets, the rainbow harbor, or the bracing Tobermory wind that passes through the thickest of clothes.

When I try to explain such magical sophistries, turning visions into words…into ballads…September nostalgia perking in my nostrils, the world, even Sausalito, is a cruel place for one who needs romance, poetry, and the safety of a well-loved face across the table.

You weren’t in Tobermory when I was there.

You just weren’t…