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Erosion

a poem about erosion

Aug 12, 2019

There are days now I look old,
Once in a while the mirror shocks
Me with its eyed fatigue.

The trace of a line about the mouth
That will soon burrow too deeply
For any amount of sleep’s erasure
Belongs to a face I do not yet know.

There are mornings now I awaken
To the body’s remembrance of injuries
And I move through the days weighted
With foreign bone and muscle,

Watching the moments and the days
Wear at the contours of my body
Like wind reshaping unprotected ground.