It’s too late now to say you are not old,
the years gang up on you, they settle down
like locusts falling on a field of grain,
the rustling noise you hear, that is their sound.
How to be old: I’ll help you on the way.
Stand straight. Be calm. Pretend you are a tree
Speak like a tree, only speak slow and clear.
Speak only once. If words should scatter
flashing their tails before they disappear,
temporise, change the subject, no great matter –
Enough, wrong tone: meaning to make amends
should not have used this hieratic patter
knew from the start that half I said was wrong
pitching it for that By-Our-Lady play
And yet, which half was false and which was true?
After all, here am I, but where are you?
Maybe a small charade would help: let’s see
I set you on a wide and marshy plain
Light fades: no constellations come in view
Briefly a fire-fly spark, a marsh gas flare –
No marsh-bird croaking in the darkening air…
Does that come some way near, or am I wide?
I mean to help, and yes, I’m by your side.
But you don’t meet my gaze or raise your head
— I don’t believe you’ve heard a word I said!
