I am 66, he 33.
This will never happen
again.
He is catching up with
me.
If he lives to be 1000
And I am still alive,
I will be 1033.
By that time
California will be a
desert.
But we will sit in an old
growth forest
In what used to be
Alberta
And we will talk about
things
That would only interest
1000-year-old men.
Not health, because
We would have mastered
the health-thing.
No, we will talk about
dreams
And yogurt and colors.
Also, we won't be using
words
But whistles, like the
birds
Who will, I like to
imagine, flourish
After the Climate Crash of
2053.
I will smile and look
into his craggy face
And he will see how much
I love him.
And I will see his love
for me.
I really like having an
old soul!
It makes it easy to see
beyond
And feel OK with the
possibility that
Things may not get better
For a long, long time.
(Article changed on December 18, 2017 at 19:56)
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