I'm going to catch up, I say. I missed
a couple of years' worth of every day. For what?
For this. To have
to catch up. To get
to try. I am blessed
by my empty cup. No, I don't look
back
now, I look
rather ahead
hovering shoulders
above the crowd, and
probably dead. Still
walking the talk, though
stumbling well as I stutter
and putt with my nine-iron drive.
Have I ever been less
than just this much vibrantly
beating and breathing alive? Barely,
a couple of times. Laid bare
I admit now in memory - back when we all
wore clothes. But stripped bare, though,
as I now recall.
It's easier to recover that way
from the fall.
With
everyone natural,
all on a level of dignity
that would make us blush, or
one of us! Me,
I tremble to trust,
and mumble
to hush.
Trailing off (the right way?)
up the path where I lost
my rush.
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