a poet passes the baton / olympic flame to a poet in his posthumous work, not the work he was alive to be able to recite, it all happened with a book published in 1999, when its author died in 1994; the book was bought in glasgow, along with dostoyevky's the brothers karamazov (yes, i read it, ivan is my favourite), and rumi's collection of sufi verse.*

i dreamnt this night that i was at
my first poetry reading,
and due to the nerves i suddenly
turned dyslexic - which is odd,
because when i was leaving high
school aged 18, i did a reading
with parkinson's hands in front
of the teachers and the whole
of my year group and managed
to pull off the pronunciation.