Why did I believe the invisible
line of fifty years would divide me
from youth as surely as it divides
the century and create
an isolette for old age
free from desire
for all but food and breath?

What made me think
a birthday could weave
a cocoon of serenity
free from furies of obsession?

The heart is a craving monster
that teaches the body
new ways to covet
invents endless byways
for the mind to search
the way a dog sniffs
out an unfamiliar yard.

Now half again
as many years
have passed and I
know the truth
of the illusion
called maturity


Poetry Monday