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The Long Search When Dad lay dying his chrysalised eyes glazed, half shut – half open – sight retreating – or emerging, I did not know whether to bathe the glue away. What point unveiling this cold and hostile world – the one inside his fractured mind so much more revealing? In blurred and torpid vision he saw a seagull perched upon his bed – and winds from his beloved north stirred memories of brackened moor and lamp lit streets, where children played late into the frosted night. I am searching, he said. I am searching for my brother, long lost. |