When I was five, I gave no thought
to who I’d be at seventy-one.
But now that age approaches me,
shadows flit both fore and aft.
The depthless clouds that trapped me then,
made me fall straight up to blue,
do so still.
I no more draw with sticks in sand
the mysteries thrown by cathode rays
for wind-lashed waves to wash away.
My father casts his lure from other shores
beyond my sight, yet Another’s gaze
warms my cheek, folds me under warding cloak
Hoyden then and woman now,
seeds all spilled, yet still mind-bright,
I wonder what the pain and all between have meant,
when all I really know is gratitude,
which like the teasing waves back then,
smudges tracks laid out too straight
and pulls me to infinity.