Soon your hands will wither.
Those veins you can barely see now
will strike new wrinkles in your skin,
rise up over softened crevices.
Your neck will slouch,
descend to meet the breasts that
also have descended
down down down
to meet the bottomless belly
draped over wasting thighs.
Soon, soon, as time reveals, exposes,
your body will fold in, replace,
This skin contorts, transforms,
in the image of its maker.
A constant reminder
of your fragility, changeability, liminality,
the fine, filmy substance of your physical existence
in this epoch.
You should EMBRACE
this final, flaming, sunset spark,
the glory unparalleled of being allowed
to dance and shine before your maker.
And then, look forward
to dawning again,
upon a world remade,