still here

i see the length me

decreasing.
the hair
gone thin, swept grey.

the teeth are
worn,
like tools in an old shed,
as is
the crepe of arms,
the plains of skin.

i am blurred in light
and

must lean towards a voice
to understand
what's
said.

i steady myself on the rail,
or take an arm to
walk with tender
feet
up the concrete stairs.

i am going fast, going slow.

i remember what i want
to remember, if remember
things at all,

amazed at times that
others are gone while
i'm still here.

this late in the game,
this season
of fall.