OLDENING

the terror of growing
old not ancient just
old and withered like
an icy legume borrowing
dandruff from a flock
of peas makes me fret;
i see no naartjies nor
doth the breath of roses
ignite in the breast of
dust a habitation for
ashes; only the bickering
of the clock alarms my
sleeping pillows; but then
like a peeper across the
cracks of dreams, something
hot and peppery celebrates
the living in the Live.