Martin Robertson

Now and Then


Between two stations, two or three words and smiles.

Between woman and child,

something of two faces in her face,

a dancer and a child,

long ago, long apart,

each out of time and space

ambered in my heart,

both imaged back in this bone, this flesh,

this hour and place.

I look across through my old face

at the sleeper on the other seat.

Dirty old men dream young and sweet.