autumn light
Ducks are all mad, and they laugh
mocking even unstoned
but wet or dry, you're still a wise woman
mind matters shaped by the heart
Bodies, on the other hand
just become more beautiful
to sight, to touch, to taste, to smell
even if I wish mine worked still
as smoothly as reliably as once it did
when my spirit was unable to fill
But on balance old, for all its
creaks and pains and fears
of invasive growth
of slow or sudden failure
Still better and better known and better loved
even if only by me, or
by a glance, a word, a rare caress, out-freyn
strange yet welcome still from you…
I'm very selective and particular
in only loving people whom I love too
8th November 2015, to and from Jane Burn's “Myself at Forty Three”
(though nobody who is “you” here is she!)
