That sweet old man
my mother-in-law
said about her
grandfather 

to her, he was always old
as she is to me and 
I will be to my 
grandchildren 

and yet somewhere
Oscar Chestnut’s skin 
is smooth, Alice’s legs
are lean, my smile 
uncreased, and 
my grandchildren use 
canes to creep around

in a single straw of
time, every 
moment exists
both bloom and fire
both bud and trash 

the sap bubbles
the vein is dry 
a flick
of the second hand

I am eager 
for a slim miracle
to see all things
that ever were
at once