All Flesh Grows Old
By Stella Nesanovich - Lake Charles, Louisiana, USA - 27 February 2013
The Book of Sirach 14:17
like a garment, its edges frayed,
threads sheer as spun glass,
fragile gossamer, lucent batik
hammered from experience.
Arms and legs stipple with age,
a grainy swivel arises in knees,
brushstrokes of pain
as the spine's corridor dims.
You must coax movement
most mornings after sleep
has induced a glaze of icy
stiffness. The veil between
life and death grows thin
as an ancient lace curtain,
mottled from rain,
its loose weave so worn
you see the other side:
you, a forest dweller aware
of a clearing ahead, amber
sunlight like candle glow,
the sweep of diminishment.