65

This birthday once meant retirement. The end.

Now, I’m told it’s just a number.

But that greeting card message didn’t reach

my eyes, knees and heart. They feel

like my brain – tired, nostalgic, inexplicably crying.

The Milky Way

I look for a red giant tonight.

A star late in its stellar evolution.

In a cloud that’s not a cloud.

How old we are. How we want

a supernova ending. How difficult is dying.

The solstice came, the days lengthen and

winter blows colder winds, but tree man,

a gentle soul, not a horror legend,

holds on to his brown autumn coat,

guarding the creek, watching me grow old.