“We are all old-timers,
each of us holds a locked razor.”
― Robert Lowell,Life Studies

Swirling around the failures of my life:
I laugh at the shyness that impeded me
Held me back until the children came.
it was good to give the future names
My flights were just of a flying fancy
That had little to do with everyday 
More to do with expressing what was dim
Unknown, unexplored, hardly realised,
That sense of having been here before
Déjà vu wont cut it for me. Not for you,
Did I glimpse an echo of a primal scream
Something that can not just be or be seen 
Something that leaves me bereft, isolated,
On an island of nothing,  in a sea of ego,
I would move mountains to know you again
Pretty clever, looking into distances, & afraid,
Like me.