Written by Jesse LoVasco

Now that he’s old,
he finally wants to listen,
but he can’t hear.

Now that she’s free to dance,
her legs don’t move so well.

Their minds grow a slow forgetting,
fogging their fiery instincts,
softening them out of their bodies.

Just as haze forms after rainy afternoons,
nothing is quite clear.

Their slow passage
from one life to another
does not include pain,
but moves
them through these precious days
like floating clouds.

featured in our winter 2019 issue