Age is not only the years
It is the weight, the current of memory
and the pull of deeds we wish to forget but cannot.
It is the desire to return when returning
continues to recede like a port with each ship taken.
It is the dreams that merge, the many breasts
and lips kissed, the hands held, the hands let go,
the secrets shared, the betrayals, the shared food,
the stories told, the laughter from childhood, the screams,
the haunting of too many friends with the coins placed
upon their closed eyes, their lips dry and slightly open
in a small “oh” of shock that death had caught them so easily.
It is the ears ringing from too many battles,
the sand from beaches left behind that are carried within.
It is a yearning for Penelope’s arms, her smile
and voice and the knowledge the Siren has seduced me again.
I am a pig
but sometimes I lift my head and see
all that I want and it is then, especially,
that age falls upon me…a rock
that reduces me to a groan
and little more, not now, not like back when
with Achilles and Ajax I set sail for glory
and to hell with the cost
only to discover hell loiters…waits for all of us.