You wake to the sound of bells
Outside, blue flooding into every corner
The air on your bare flesh,
Space and self resume their customary order

The body complains as it takes its weight
As though it had never been flung around, disdaining
All restraining
Of its youth and strength

Cream of wheat and coffee
As scraps of the world outside appear in halftone
But you can find no trace of pain
In sunlight on the wet flagstone

Lying in bed of a Friday night
You've started to hear walking home from dockside taverns
Laughing slatterns
In the street below

So every autumn at first frost
You declare you've finally lost
Those stupid adolescent yearnings.
But when the dogwoods start to bud
There's a thawing of the blood
And they come flooding back again
The guest room is still a mess
And at the start of June, the kids are coming
So all afternoon you fight with drywall,
Rotten boards, and leaky plumbing

You carry your beer to the yard at dusk
The glow of the tulip shoots as the maple's roots toil
Through the wet soil
Underneath your feet…