©2021 Michael Raven

tonight i am old
it is writ there on the screen:
i am old old old old
ancient & trapped in dream
lay the bread & milk out
a thimbleful of wine
the nights grow long
the nights grow cold
the nights lose all time

i am old
i think i have said so before
but the years move in spirals
& the skies look different to
me today today, not like my youth

 -- i could see stars once, hunter
               the belt tied tight, i saw
               this willows speak in wind
         hanging their hair in sorrow --

wytchwood winds singing
i recall from my youth
stalking the wilderness the forest
          spirit wolves howling drunk
    on mead
i am old i am old i am old

her lace, becalmed in stormy waters
tripping through the tall grass meadow
   heath in her hair flannel grey black plaid
and the sea, foam green bewixt &
                                                'tween
milk white thighs i heard her sing & it 
     was a heavenly thing
but my eyes, drawn to that soft skin
dreaming

how old i am these times, so much
forgotten & the joints ache in winter
without her fingers to kneed

i am old i am old i am old
a revenant howling for flesh to
sing again, i am
torn asunder needing a kiss to
put me back together again

you cannot know
these long nights mine