I keep stumbling over
The edge of aging
This wrinkled hand
This creaking hinge
This blank spot
In the file cabinet
That held the treasures
And torments of a life
A story
That is still unfolding
With a few missing
Pieces
But relentless ticking
And the sounding chimes
Of a heedless clock
A blur of seasons
A tremble in the muscles
A veil between causes
My vision softening
As experience sharpens
My silent wonder
My grief in growing
Toward less in body
And ever more in
Changeless soul
January Handl
Characterizations:
been there, moving, well written
Another beautiful poem, January. Thank you so much for this!
Your ticking, chiming clock sent chills up my spine.
January,
You have said something strong with such softness and gentleness. Thank you so much.