Age

Suspended in time,
our bodies are gently moving toward silence, free and clear and bouyant.

At the start,
we are shiny, bright, elastic, new, without fear or traces of doubt.

We bend and cry
and grow, exponentially learning, betting, astonishing ourselves.

We wear suits
made of bright, shiny cloths which bathe us in song.

The air we breathe
is new, and the sounds, sights, tastes, shape us into information-holders.

We start to use shoes
and form calluses, marking the unending passage of time.

Every day is an adventure;
the knowledge we gather begins to add weight to our skin.

That which we detest,
we remember to avoid: homework, chores, taxes, arguments.

That which we enjoy,
we allow to penetrate us more and more often: water balloons, candy, first dates.

We comb our hair
and begin to understand vanity, love, betrayal.

We ambulate,
sometimes with our own limbs and sometimes with rare machines.

We begin to understand one another,
and even try to create new one anothers in order to understand more.

These processes
change us from elastic new stars to older, tarnished trees.

We begin to spend more time
looking down at the ground instead of at the sky.

Those younger than us (there are more and more),
do not know that youth is fast and age is not particular.

True love gives way
to real love and real life and real exhaustions.

Everything
starts to take longer to complete, manage, remember.

Our memories become
grander and greater and far harder to manage.

Nostalgia tastes finer
than novelty, and we finally understand Christmas, family, true love.

The shoes we once wore
are exchanged for those without laces and firmer grips.

We use blankets again,
just as we did in the days of our young elastic star youth.

The circle is perpetual,
definite, and indefinite.

We sit in each other’s laps,
comforted by the passing of time and the honesty of memory.

Age creates a balance
and mistakes time for movement, leaving us silent and free once more.