Thus follows a representation of the last entry in the diary of a friend of mine who left us recently. The words are exactly as I found them; inscribed upon the page in his favourite green ink LAMY fountain pen. I must thank his next of kin, Aunt A for allowing me to publish them online and for her gracious honesty about his literary ambitions.

Diary entry: Day 1117

Subtitled: Sea plane

it is almost time, i can feel it. My mind is <heavily crossed out>. I have learnt all that i suspected all along and perhaps some more.

see speck on horizon, or icing on cake
or memory
or eyelid
or icecap.
the din from your heart is with me like the rhine of your bosom, the sky is not there again.

see form of plane
buffeted but intact full of cargo propelled

i won't eat the dental moulds or his bible
although: is this leather?

approaching the smooth lake forceps and toes like sweetcorn
when nobody likes to be stared at in the street.
steel pins form between my lips as i struggle with the tape recorder

sea plane! i can see the markings but i cannot describe or decipher them for you.

and then in a blink of an eye it seems to hover in cool light cool shadow
in movement yet quite still

object and image so sweet your dance

father is struggling with the rake and an american indian among the conifers
who shiver their disapproval but don't avert their eyes.

i am hewn from lack

and it is this motif
like the sea plane
like father and the rake and the american indian
that

And so it ends, i will miss you, dear friend.
- Nick

Nick Dockerty

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