I used to think I was Cold.
Distant, Untouchable.
I used to think I didn't care what they said--
Until they did.

I forgot it's too late.
I know I was wrong.
But hey,
              I'm not sorry.

I started out young,
And dumb--
Blinded by These Bright Lights.

My last tumble down the rabbit hole:
I swore; Never Again
But You came,
And I broke.

I met you and Alice pushed me down,
                                                           down,
                                                           ­  Down,
                                                           ­    down.

I was the Mad hatter;
But I didn't notice.
Blinded by These Bright Lights.
You Left.

Alice awakens me from my dream
And I'm left sorry--
Sorry,
For the things I haven't seen.

Setting sun splinters
on Hudson’s frozen currents.
Sea of gold shimmers.

Palisades prop up
wooded banks of New Jersey.
Springtime beckons boats.

Hazy summer heat
thickens air and slows the steps
of earnest hikers.

Autumn leaves rustle--
wind blows downhill ornaments
of gold, red, orange.

I can see them all
in a magnified mirror,
every line and wrinkle
they all tell a story,
all of them part of my life,
they do not haunt me:
This growing old
is not a worry
in fact it´s quite the opposite,
this aging face
has seen a full life run;
I feel them all,
the aches and pains
the grunts and groans
when bending, lifting,
the twenty-twenty
is now much less,  
cataracts are forming;
This frail old frame
and befuddled  mind
have travelled far
in miles and time,
but this growing old
it worries me not;
This privilege of age
is a wondrous thing
denied to so many,
so many of my friends
in a younger life;
Yes, I see and feel them all
the lines and the wrinkles,
the aches and the pains,
all born from a full life run;
My friends who died young
would have loved to have lived
and experience theirs now,
having been robbed of
their own full lives run.

I hope this reaches you,
somewhat crumpled and embittered,
but soft on the inside and still smelling of my fingertips and hair.