| One week more and I am sixty five. Forty one born, the Pearl Harbour year. I sit alone in the Star, waiting for my family. Looking at the jacketed book That I frequently come back to see. I can see four Frans Holbein paintings, Fat portraits of the Renaissance. Reminding me of my own rebirth, A joyful lunch taken late. The conversation works, we eat gratefully. A book of portraits, a volume of lives. They do not stare at us; we stare at them. Still hungry after all these years. And Liz just kissed me as I went. Passing strange, that I have just now, Drawn another portrait picture. A sketch, a study quick and alive. One week more and I am sixty five. (written one week before my 65th birthday on January 27, 2006) Note: "The Star' is a cafe in Hepburn Spings, Victoria |