There was that time when
seeing stars before night fell, from the bottom of a hole that once was a missile silo. The missile’s gone, but the menace remains – yet the stars shine down that hole.

        And that time when
watching the penguins chasing each other, warbling, hopping and sliding, peering over the edge of the floe, in case of leopard seals waiting and scrambling to be last one in the water, just in case.

        And
standing, watching old men riding antique tanks into the square. I blinked – suddenly the people were haggard, in worn clothes, with tears falling on joyous faces, and the men in the tanks were young, exhausted and triumphant.

        There was the time
when we sat by a fire, halfway up a mountain nowhere near anywhere, welcoming a millenium with light in darkness, cheap popcorn and the finest champagne.

All the times of death, joy, birth, sorrow, love, and tears that make a life
         how do you get all that into a poem?