Morning Bones

In my sixth decade now, with a front row seat

to the beautiful and fearsome march of days

on their way to fewer of them

 

What else, other than time,

do we have so many grievances with

but are still so grateful for?

 

I see life’s passing markers damaging my body,

leaving consolation gifts of memories, good ones,

and lessons-learned ones where wisdom should come from

 

Time scoffs at my attempts to negotiate terms or conditions

Its empirical handiwork tells me how it’s going to be;

looking back at me in the mirror or feeling it in my morning bones

I expect time will keep subtracting, minus this, and minus that,

but hopefully leaving one more day

 

If the difference is greater than zero

I’ll gladly accept the result with anticipation

of seeing the sun set one more time in the west,

over the green hills crowned in fog

and better understand the treasure