BIRTHDAY POEM
It's not the birth, it's more the becoming that I miss;
some spectral Morse Code of dot and dash, the
quick burst of arrival and the long dash of becoming,
of seeing and sensing what there is. All this time, and
in all these weathers. I've stood as still as I ever will.
-
Now's the time for movement, real movement -
the spin of dart and run, the swirl of a bad old-man's
behavior. All that's up ahead; oh boy, so much to see.
I can hardly wait to live, let alone to die.
I've stood as still as I ever will.
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