I look to all my friends.
We’re just around the bend, they say,
Where they have waved and disappeared
Through treacle air down castor oil lanes.
Until we’re old enough to play again.
I peer into the mirror.
The lines administered by lack of sleep
That you still keep on calling laughter,
Conduct the hereafter to my protesting feet.
And they are now six inches deep.
And so I look at you, you say:
How we have grown up.
And I reach out to wipe away the knowledge
That there is so much growing to be done.
That I can see that we are yet so young.
– o –
Varese, January-February 2011. Another example of the “hidden rhyme” style I am experimenting with. The first example of this is “I feel weak” earlier on in my blog. I seem to be moving swiftly past death and sickness, towards old age. Soon I will be writing about youth.