I saw an old man on Skid Row sitting on the steps of his palace,

holding the achievements of all his years in the palm of his hand.

As I passed before him I felt his eyes at the very core of my being

—scanning, searching, scattering.

And I wondered what he saw there.

Had I locked it all up so loosely?

Could this brief chance-moment reach through all those years of hiding?

And I wondered what dreams we had shared

and why on awaking he was there

and I was just passing.

Then I turned around

to venture one last glance

at one man’s future

past

and I wondered how often any of us really chooses.

November 1973

Photo Credits Text: Talarico / Calligraphy: DuBosch / Photography: Bachhuber