There he is, my other self, stumbling along Tone deft but insisting on playing life’s symphony by ear He is like a country fully inhabited but waiting to be discovered or like a planet which, ever so gently, wobbles a star to reveal it’s presents He has his history, his Alexandra, his Caligula moments. He has crossed the alps, the oceans, going from what he was to what he is and like everyone else, has been nailed called back from the dead been a Buddha when it didn’t matter. That’s him, eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches, shyly leaning too far over the ramparts while the enemy waits below He has the great comfort of loving and being loved, and still he is hungry for something else… We are so different, the two of us, two sides of the moon. It seems almost funny we cast the same tongue-tied shadow, the same stuttering footprint. But there you have it, there’s no stopping him and maybe it’s for the best. He plays everything by ear and doesn’t know one note from another. Still, I find myself tapping a finger to his beat. He is, after all, my brighter side, the one facing the earth, the side that people see.