I realize that in terms of body and spirit,
body grows sick while spirit’s immune,
– Po Chü-i (“Climbing Mountains in Dream”)
Like a wall, hooks in hand,
I’ve scaled bales of hay stacked
too far off the ground to fall
for nearly fifty winters, boot toes
feeling for a crack and hang
while synapse talks to flesh—
a longer conversation now
for this ascension. I can fly
in my dreams, scramble
like a squirrel up a tree.
Awake: my spirit intact, in touch
with heart and mind’s belief
in these old knees they will escape
after the truck is loaded, cattle
fed—when the work is done.
drycrikjournal 
That’s a lot of ‘butt-roasts’ : )
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A year’s work indeed!
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Vivid. Sounds like most nights at triage.
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Nice one, John. Perhaps I envy you a little less today, as heavier the bales of hay. 😉
Our youth lives forever in our hearts. I’m of the belief that our mind never gets older than 33
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I trust that age precludes the mistakes I made at 33, whether mind or flesh, I’m not saying.
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great poetry
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Thank you, Maureen.
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