Kronos

I love my best of you
shine me
through the vestiges of your spring
make me, who has
the wind still in his wrinkles,
sing of how we love the silk softness
of our whiten hair,
chance with me the rite of our fingers through it,
entomb us in that raging, mad,
that sacred dance

Kronos was originally published on Meandering home

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I will be ninety-five

I will be ninety-five
and I will play my violin
in the shade of a tree

I will play from memory
for you, for the people
for being under a tree

I will be ninety-five
leathery, hunched, but alive
this is my pension plan:
know me as the violin man

My violin will be three hundred
and ten, old wood that sings
in the young shrubs, and then
becomes the echo of its quietude

I will be ninety-five
and play odes to the songbirds
my heart’s a hiccup
of improvised memories

I will be ninety-five
thank you for listening
thank you for the coins
in my old red fedora

I will be ninety-five
and I will play my violin
and I will a happy man

I will be ninety-five was originally published on Meandering home