In my dotage
I walk past a bench,
Lonely, it stands.
The swamp green paint peeling off its back,
When were you last painted?
I sit down, enjoying your structure,
You coddle my back, so tired from labor.
I watch as the lake shimmers in the morning glow,
The geese caress its gentle waves,
Landing so gracefully on its face.
My breath in the morning rays,
Reflects, reminds, and grounds me.
I am reminded, that I am human,
That I have air in my lungs,
That I have spirit in my fingers,
And a heart that beats beneath my rickety ribs.
I stand from that bench,
And thank it as I leave.















