In the form of a black moth,
fear flew out of my body and went off, free.
Old age walks towards me. I want nothing
to do withit, like a teenager ashamed of her mother.
Once, if nights were cool and a voice said, go in, I would.
Now nights are cold and I still go out though voices tell me
stay, stay.
Father, do you hide your tenderness?
Are old age and illness all you’ve been given to face your death?
Having laid your hands on it you know it’s ice. But courage
disguises itself, the way a wild ocean delivers ships.
~ from In Cannon Cave (Brick Books, 1997)
