When will it be
that she sees
the shock of the old?
When will she stop in her tracks,
stop her breath,
and take charge of my feelings,
so that I’m not hurt by more
than the passing of time?
No time soon.
She marauds over me
like terrain to be conquered.
My arms are limbs to swing from,
my legs and back juts and jags
of rock and granite to be scaled
and hammered. My head
a peak to stand atop
to command her domain.
She sets her feet on me
trusting the ground won’t give way.
There is no discussion or greeting,
no approach, no preamble –
I am a cliff face up which to scramble.
Ageless and eternal, forever there,
how could I not repay the compliment
by standing tall as the sky,
like a caveman trying to reach the sun.