to all that is new,
to all I have not yet seen,
attracted to the covered corners
the light can not carve comfort into…
to all I don’t yet know,
to all I have not yet called by name,
haunted by the houses not yet home
and the whispers not yet known…
but what of where I have been,
what of the comfort once created,
what of the stories already told,
what of the lives I held once,
for a time,
in my hold?
Am I bold
to this running,
this longing to be always
up and leaving,
for this constant craving,
for another corner to caress creation,
to suppress starvation?
But hunger is not a harbour,
it is not where still waters rest, still.
It is the rest…
into the crest, craving,
rushing up and over,
always and ever further,
from the shore.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly