What I found in my head this morning

IN MY OLD AND DYING FORM

In my old and dying form
when all the hours fill with storms
that uproot where I stand and breathe,
I don't complain. I never grieve.

In my old and dying form
I lean against a wall and wait,
a pose like waiting for a bus.
If there's a bus, it's always late.

I've lost a sense of hearth and home
in my old and dying form.
Outlived my friends. Outlived my dog.
An old man waiting in a fog.

But Sisyphus shoulders the rock
and this alone will fill his heart.
And hence there's nothing here to mourn
in my old and dying form.

--Charles Deemer