Dust Life

For me, as it does each day,
And has for old men since they

Were all girls and boys at play,
The sleep ends. I start my wake,

Chant my chants. See, here I stay,
Me who knows me, a long way

From gone yet. I’m here, I say,
As old men tend to greet grey

Dawn’s eyes through black leaves that sway
When ghosts glide out of the shade.