This age

this age means little

to me

these bones

that

grow smaller with each

passing day.

the grey wind

that has passed across

my body.

the blurring

and muting of sound

and sight,

the morning aches,

and early

rising.

this age means nothing

to me.

i am still the same

boy

mother kissed

before leaving, 

as she stood at the door

and waved.

telling me

to be good.