'In the middle of my life I awoke in the dark wood where the true way was wholly lost...'
I'm of a certain age to retire 'round ten.
Midnight or two a.m.
are chimes in youth's green,
not the dark wood.
Tomorrow comes early.
Once I knelt and prayed the sinner's prayer
and I was saved, found.
But now, as a middler,
I rise to scatter Eliot's ashes -
'Teach us not to care.'
She says there's a lot of grey in your beard.
I say yes, there is.
He asks would you consider yourself a poet?
I take a deep breath and look away,
ticks of a man holy lost.