Dreaming of getting old
was a distant dusk
drops of summer rain,
lazily keeping beat
with the arrhythmic tide.
Someone else’s dream.
When did I start listening to all of that?
My age, our aging will be our own
and we will hurtle ourselves
with relatively reckless, calculated abandon
towards an endless journey, a leg, a stage,
a flight, an itinerary.
A reach from your hand across the aisle
and I am calm, drifting gently in our enormous
winged boat across the endless speckled ocean
at 36, 000 feet.