There are ways these days
in which I feel older,
the tones of my chords
now including sixes, sevens, nines

There is a darkness on the undersides
where previously unknown fears
have flared and charred,
thereby disarmed,
but taste of fire remains

There is a softness now
to my approach, my certainty
is firmer, but its segments shorter —
I look more humbly for direction,
I take stock sooner
to adjust my course

The memory of dipping into tears
is closer to my eyes
and what I care about
is closer to the surface
but more than ever
runs clear and deep.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 25, 2017