The beginning of death is a hair's breadth;
is a word you can't hear;
something in the distance you can't quite make out;
someone's name you don't always remember;
a forest trail that used to be easy as Tony Curtis;
a mountain that's grown taller;
a distance that's added a few miles;
grand kids you've never met;
a year that rushes by;
your late mother visiting in dreams;
saviours that change sidewalks;
younger people that ensure you that you look well;
the voluntary restraining orders you put yourself under;
a host of things you used to enjoy;
the many things you don't give a shit about;
the free vision through one and all;
your judgement on yourself growing ever more persistent;
the troubled look in your spouse's face