95.

These eyes, joints, gums ache with an age

That one day wakes up, unencumbered,

The wind not even noticing, the moon

Not even an emblem of change: the tides

Wash up and time won’t even try

To have hands. Why does the moment

Flee backwards, and then it is too late

Like love? One day youth has fled

And the winter hides its offensive

Below the summer ground. And your eyes

Look astonished that after so few years

I am bent, torn, reeling, devious

Sometimes before the foe. But this isn’t

A battle: there can be no triumph. But love.