The beginning of death is a hair's breadth;

is a word you can't hear;

something in the distance you can't quite make out;

someone's name you don't always remember;

a forest trail that used to be easy as Tony Curtis;

a mountain that's grown taller;

a distance that's added a few miles;

grand kids you've never met;

a year that rushes by;

your late mother visiting in dreams;

saviours that change sidewalks;

younger people that ensure you that you look well;

the voluntary restraining orders you put yourself under;

a host of things you used to enjoy;

the many things you don't give a shit about;

the free vision through one and all;

your judgement on yourself growing ever more persistent;

the troubled look in your spouse's face