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
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
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
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.