Old Age

Where will they hide, the feral cats?

Cranes have ancient places to migrate to

With years added to years one thinks

Of these things like pointed pursuits.

 

One idea takes hold of another idea

Like rising pitch of a siren hurrying to a destination

Cranes know where to go

And where to return.

 

Dreams can be deep in the subconscious

Will functional imaging know?

Subconscious messages wanting explanations

Who will quote them?

 

Somewhere new light is emerging

The eagerness is hard to stop

Shortening years do not dwell on losses

Not in darkness but in new striving.

 

Life is to be mastered and celebrated

Life can be full to the end.

 

Little words

The passage of time will come in your day
When the smallest thing , a little word here,
A little word there, can be enormous
Your mind will dance, sparks will fly
Enjoy, tiredness is nearby and watching
Pour a glass of cognac
Or a nap may suffice.

Soundless

Old age approaches threshold of innocence

easing it’s way for memory to slowly fade

soundless like a star falling from the sky

a swan in the river.

 

things you are trying to remember

immersed in life

between the thumbs

 

the who and what

the fastest, where

 

accomplishing one goal

chasing the next

 

you lost the space

between breaths

 

the liminal space to hold 

the sunset on your palms

 

one day, looking at the morning mist

you rubbed your eyes

 

you could not remember

the colors of roses, of camellias

 

afraid you also forgot

voices of your friends.

 

You have time

but do not wait too long

 

you may get stranded 

by the receding tide

 

and too exhausted 

to be frightened

 

You have time

to return to the roots of your narratives

 

to sip coffee, to listen

to the tribe’s ailments and pains

 

simply to be with friends

to drink and eat with friends

 

to share the hilarity

of oysters on a half-shell 

 

or in silence, gaze together

at the mountain or the sea.