the stars are cold

he's legally blind now.
can hardly
hear a word I say to him.
he walks
at a slow pace.
catches his breath
at each
street lamp.
he leans towards the ocean,
smells the salt,
the brine,
the waves of his long life.
at 92, it's
amazing he's still alive.
living
at his own pace.
it's been a wild ride.
but it's oatmeal,
meals on wheels,
hearing aids and asleep
by nine.
the bars are closed.
the women are old.
the stars at night are dim,
are white,
are cold.