Bones
riddled with age
wrap around the space.
The entirety of the body
embracing oblivion
like a handle hovering
just over a threshold;
an opening.

Each step
is surprised to land
a little further,
retire there
and relax,
but there is more to go.
The light is green
the streets – serene.

A hot wind
sends what remains of hair
into a silver blur of rebellion,
against time
against fragility
against predeterminism;
restrained only by old roots
that hold fast always
even beyond the grave.