At this age pulling down the sheets
can unfold an unbearable sadness.

People you’ve known all your life
give up on you
suddenly
like an ice storm that cancels spring.

You’ve read the sutras,
studied the dogma,
lit the incense, watched
the smoke waft away to nowhere.

You’ve known all along about impermanence,
but living it is another matter.

You witness your wife hobble through her
days, each day a little less able, her best
friend a four-wheel rolling walker.

You wake up, roll over, wonder if your fingers
can form a fist today, twist the top off the
goddamned mayonnaise jar, grip a knife to cut
into a potato, push the cap down to open
a fuckin’ pill bottle.

At this age you wonder: will you have a voice
loud enough to rage against the dying light?