Time after time,
it all adds up;
weight upon weight,
all seeming lighter,
more fluff than substance.
Worries about nightmares
dreams and foolish ideals
fall to the sides of roads
where Spring rains
wash them away.

Pain upon pain,
aches magnify
with remembrance
of passing years,
youth stored
in forgotten muscles;
pain’s sensation
felt in methods
of dealing.

The counting
of negative integers
soon becomes positive;
colors of aged beauty
show in charcoaled lines
etched upon beloved faces.

Dirt between atrophied fingers,
smell fecundity,
feel soil shift,
fall as plant nourish,
meant for sowing,
not burrowing.

Age is not
numbers
on blackboards,
just a subtle rendering
of old
to new.