Swap antics of bird & squirrel
closeup at eye level
for dawn’s daily spectral glory,
cream magnolias for jasmine
walls, summer for fall, another
turning, one more good reason
not to settle down. Thoreau’s
home was a river under his boat,
friend a woodchuck he hypno-
tized by remaining still, poking
at it until it succumbed entirely
to Henry’s observational wiles.
Old age is a time to move
deftly, puddle to brook to wave.
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