now I am old I will shine my shoes until the leather has a vexatious gleam From the caldera I can see the stars turning against the heavy blue of premature evening Elbow gravelled on my chin as if time were closer here fingers hooking a crookèd nape all extraneous distractions careless and forsworn Too tight, the laces left undone, aiglets trailing like reckless moons as I (almost) fall we slowly spin
