I shudder to know that I am thought young.

I needlessly shudder to be so.

I agonize at the confinement of words,

Knowing you also are captive

by tongue.

You thought the counting of days in my mind

Commensurate to those of my skin—

A blindness or fear of the reality

That our souls, somehow ageless, have

outwitted time.

I shudder in fury that paths have diverged

Without moment for ether or light

To permeate mist or burn away wrongs,

No time for my age to be painted

by courage.

You thought to be what is joyous and strong.

You thought to be the horizon.

If my words with the wind will be carried away,

Then perhaps I deserve

to be young.

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