catch up or bust, or blush

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.