This old poet poses with his worn out lines.
     Tender poetry of youth and love's beginnings
     and faltering steps beyond puberty's uncertainty.

     I've pounded my love on typewriters, each letter
     has a part to play in this drama with a weight
     all its own. Smash a key and it opens old wounds.

     This beast is my heart demands fresh love.
     I find love again and again and again. Love.
     I see my final horizon. I see a lovely angel.