Now that you have gone beyond 70, your eyesight is poor and your hearing is even worse. It’s a conundrum and like a mask it gives rise to unfamiliar motions. There they are, your consorts in poetry where your words are mine, and mine yours. You are as if tethered in a hand-made lapstrake double-ender wooden boat meant for inland waters. When the strake swells, the inner surfaces swell inward, loosening the lashing, letting the overlapping slats swell and slide sideways, but you are ignorant of such intricate things and instead you float your boat through the sky led by an ancient Sumerian bird with the body of an eagle and a head of a lion. According to legend this giant bird stole the Tablet of Destinies. His scream can make the whole world shake. At last you recognize yourself as part of the unreal and unusual.