I look to a mirror

And see I am old,

Balding, skin dry,

My beard greyed.

The skin of my hands

Has thinned like plys

Of ice on water, early

Winter mornings.

I first read this poem

My class read today

Forty years ago, when,

Like them, I still believed.

I am old; there is no

Resolution to this poem.

(February 27, 2018)