“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 a fancy
To do with everyday expressions of what was really always there,  
Dim unknown, unexplored, uncertain, hardly realised,
Yet buried in that sense of having been here before
Déjà vu dont cut it for me. Nor for you,
Did I glimpse an echo of a primal scream?
Something that can not just lie unknown, unseen 
Something that leaves me bereft, isolated,
On an island of nothing,  in a sea of rage at myself 
I would move mountains to see you again
Pretty clever, looking into distances, & afraid,
A child of her age, afraid, ilike me.