poetic pause :: wrinkles

but there are stories tucked in those lines.
soft ones, laughing ones.
tattered, dog eared book ends dusty on the shelf.
forgotten and remembered.
a breathing in. a letting go.

tucked inside the creases of a mothballed shirt.
old soul sung young.

and us. us who are afraid to cling to the wrinkled, the old aging breath,

who are afraid of the skin on the over heated milk,
we try to stamp out and smooth down the aged.

so unlike when we were young,
when we parted in and out of the doorways
 with death strung out across our back,
no fear in hiding from the poetry of old age.

taking and talking hands, holding onto the new,
tight closed fists. and in the small bits,
 we wrinkle ourselves,
wrinkles pressed in the creased quivers of living life.

in the breathing in, the folding of hands,

and the breathing out, through time stood young.

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foliophoto :: with the ever talented ladies at besidesign and rainforest creative salon. 

xxoo