Sinking the Moon
The golden moon sinks in the sea
Tide moving ships round like clock hands
To announce the dawn. Another day
When you’ll look past the checkout girls
Take in the parade of grey hair, stooped shoulders
Notice that the ancient of days
Have started to look a lot like you; You
tuned to the tides, swung around
sensing you have grown into him,
that guy you used to warn yourself about.
Youth, health ebb slowly as the tide
No one thing or time of notability
Just a patient erosion of the surplus
depth, abundant buoyancy, confidence,
The last of it leaching down the shore,
chasing the receding flood
Washing past the remnant barnacles and crabs
And the haunting smell of the drying decadence.