A Joy

When I was young, I’d suck up sherbert,

fun like a fool, take chances at dances:

looking for miracles, I’d go straight

into any action with a hatful of fancies.

Not small, the sky would be a sprawling

realm with joy, bewilderments bending

me, out of breath, as I boarded a trawler

to fish seven seas and land where I’m landing.

But, these days, I sail slowly

- bones aching lately –

and my islands of touch

keep it warm in the South.

As far as I can tell, there is no quicksand

with me on a road - heading West - round the bend.