Prize fighter

Prize fighter

Prize fighter

 

 

 

Everything suggests that I am late

The memory, the notes on soiled paper

Remorse and nagging doubt

 

My skin and my eyes. My hair

All indicate that things have changed

And I am shocked!

 

Picture books hold vestiges

Of my fading self

That I open now with caution

 

So where has the locomotion

Of all my life

Been hiding. In which siding?

 

For all the guides. Almanacs

The legends told

I am not familiar with them all

 

A shadow falls

Stooped in changing light

And fleetingly is all of me.