And another in the Odysseus poems

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.