The garden statue—
I think it was a Buddha—
Flakes, crumbles
And wears a skirt
Of lichen.
The sage bears a spike
Of purple;
The prickly pear offers a bowl
Of yellow, orange—
Full of bees.
Question: What does it mean to grow old?
Answer: That I drive to the millyard,
Load firewood, unload and stack;
On cold mornings, carry
To the stove, light, kindle, and feed
And feed and feed….
Time is a function of heat.
Past and present exist,
At least as I perceive and know them,
Because heat transfers.
