An old boy's philosophy, ambles up
arrow in one hand,
strung bow in the other…

Aim at nothing,
you cannot miss.

I watch this idea, nothing more, no thing,
a thought…

nock the shaft, draw back the bow,
but
not as I expected, not
as I saw ahead, not
aiming at the skies, outmost limit…
no,
this arrow aimed at me.
Or was it you?

Mustabin you, or nothing, as intended,
I was aiming at nothing,
to prove I could still hit it as easily as once,
when I was young,
and at the brink… of next, laughing