I, a wisely master, an imperfect older guy,
have come back to my former self of twelve
to bring honorable advice. I was a young
Sebastian then, eyes wide yet partially blind,
impetuous and blooming briskly.
From the corner of my September heart
I offer stems of wisdom like hillsides
offer blankets of green hues
and seas of glistening dew.
In this homeward return, in this time-
travel meeting me, I do not come
from a tortuous path of aging
to rein smug with narrow eyes
and sharp tongue.
No, I am hungry to advise
the me of long ago
with the simplicity
of sunlight, with the warmth
of a tabby’s purr
and the comfort of a fur coat.
I knew the me of then, one
thin lad with blood cells stirring
and nerves needles bursting smartly.
There was a rush then, a frenzy
almost to conquer days
like a warrior, like the
world would end if hurry
Turn keys slowly, lest you break them.
Writer’s Cramp Winner