A tree divulges age—
counting each concentric dark
ring as a year. With old age
her branches soften, mushroom
spores grasp her trunk, rain
pulls bark away — discarding
it without a replacement
So too my age reveals itself
with a mesh of lines— wrinkles
expose my years. Veins thread
their way up and down my legs,
reminders of time past.
Years move along,
dropping reminders along the way.
