May wrinkles find their way into your face,
and may your hair turn white.
May your gait become a tottering challenge,
and may the noises of the world
retreat further and further from comprehension.
May words fail you.
May you know odd pains
in places you had forgotten existed,
May the cold creep a little closer
to your bones,
may you turn susceptible
to every idiotic malady under the sun.

This is no curse.

These little gifts for the lucky,
crescending notes in beauty’s urgent love song
for what is changing, and won’t last,
are candles that light the way
from a dark room
to another gorgeous, gorgeous, impeccable day.