Two Photographs of the Same Poet, Years Apart
While I was busy growing up you were busy getting old, altered from handsome dark-haired party Prof to this sombre grey-bearded power fixing me from the back cover. My turn now to watch things move that should be staying put, look at the young being young, refreshed by long nights in the elements. There's one good thing in all of this: my words resemble theirs but have more weight, the strength to haul and hoist them renewed. Ah yes, the wisdom versus youth debate, and I'd broker both though process perseveres amid the jokes. So there you are smiling, relaxed with glass in hand - all those unborn words - and here, everything bursting out through the eyes.