Illustrated with photos by Josephine Sacabo

There was something in him unfulfilled,
Something bigger than the shadow that he cast, 
Like a photo of something not quite in the frame,
A language that you've heard but never learned, 
Understood the music without knowing what it means.

All through his childhood there was a picture
His mother called the Ever-Open Door.
It was small - a faded watercolour of
A timber porch with a big stone arch,
Opening onto a path that curved away
Round rockery, shrubs, dry stone wall
Into an unseen landscape where
The distant sea was somehow near
And someone was always waiting.

Peter Jukes 2000