Old Age Gets Up

Stirs its ashes and embers, its burnt

An eye powdered over, half melted and solid

Ideas that

At the first touch of

The light at the window, so square and so

So full-strong as ever, the window frameA scaffold in space, for eyes to lean

Supporting the body, shaped to its old

Making small movements in gray

Numbed from the blurred

Of having lived, the fatal, real

Under the

Something tries to save

For defenses-but words

Like flies with their own

Old age slowly gets

Heavily dosed with death's

Sits on the bed's

Pulls its pieces

Loosely tucks in its shirt