My Old Man
His body is a crooked finger
small white hairs stand
and ripple gently with the
not quite still air.
I can see his bones
clicking through his skin,
spindly bends almost creak
as he reaches out.
I touch his papery skin
so warm, I can feel
the gentle ticking of his
old man heart each minim
my fingers move along.
I count the seconds
stroking his bare head,
wanting relief
for us both, but
needing to abide in
this place and this time
eternal as his breath
whispers and mine
catches.
For Bart