Birthday Poems for Josephine

The years pass and we grow. What once was old
to us is now the present. Stronger hands
grasp somehow weaker and unsure at brands
of self or others’ hearts. Nightly, hold
your younger you to feel yourself. The cold
that seeps into your body takes those lands
where once you roamed in dream, slowly disbands
them, fills the sky with grey, and steals the gold.
The clock is ticking. Here we are. How long
to sew beliefs together? How to fight
for time? The winters melt; the summer light
dissolves into the shapeless swirl among
old diary entries and the epiphany
that as we grow the years pass heavily.

This flowering lasts and so you bloom into
the world, allowing all the sweet allure
of reticence. Transparently the sure
winds of the morning braid your hair and you,
as of a whim, throw clouds into the blue
blue sky. The years are passing. Find the cure
for innocence in growing. What was pure
is not now sullied but instead made true –
and different is the way the night descends
on you now you are older. Yet to me
the whimsy that is you will never be
any more older than the time which wends
through us now. Only you have made me find
no simpler truth than one good friend to mind.



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