i feel old

we must be quiet, mostly still
light the green candles, it is as if --

you are a child and i am a crone

it is as if i was left beneath the yew,
like something lost,
a little handkerchief,

a worn, sad, blue

no one can make whole the body
of the old. it is a spent body, cannot
reclaim what it once had and gave away,
what was taken, or what left it for a new
vista, other arms.

the morrigan washes my dress of rags,
her ravens perched on her shoulders, her bloody hair.

you do not appear in her vision.
not laughing, and smoking, and all that you do.

you are a child.

and it is beautiful for me to see.

envy seizes in my shoulders and neck,
is it apparent,
 
i want to be light

like you

light like the watery sun
that reflects off of your thin-boy's chest

i feel old