this morning I woke up afraid
like I have every morning.
I wondered if I was old
and reached up to feel my face
as i had for every day since the day
you’d touched it in the circular
fingertip sweep that convinced me
i might still have decades to go.
but this morning I hit a resistance..
a refusal to rhyme, a need to hit
pavement – a yearning to
(a need to go back to My bass lines …)
the low beats that once made me
slip and to sway …
like to wait without breathing fresh
with my skin, or wrapped with a ribbon
beside of a lake;
stretched out of a porch swing,
or alone like a dagger inside of a letter
-they have once more intoned me!
the tips of my fingers hit smile
and today stop resenting invasions
(sad patters one misses
at distance but craters
one never mistakes upon closer
…the evidence left in your trace.