I’ve failed to lose my marbles, or my weight,
The twin ballast of my life’s rapid course.
The string of pearls, meanwhile, is cast from freight
And are spilled, one by one, into their source.
The husk of memory is light, and round
The missing treasures of my life abroad
A glow still lingers. The parlour resounds
In trav’lers tales, shared spoil of all who’ve toured
Our space about the sun. I am dirt poor
In reminiscences, compared to some.
I must exchange these precious years for more
eternal things: a glimpse of wave, a hum.
Like as not, the hold becomes unfettered:
I am, I hope, old enough to love better.