That Dress, This Shirt

That dress won’t stop you growing older, no matter how you wear it—

Nor will this baggy shirt I wear disguise any more

A stomach growing fatter by the hour.

Now that we no longer have Time’s currency to squander,

Let’s get used to the raw material we are,

Let’s celebrate this far harder adventure

And stop carrying about the dead weight of Ago.

That dress, this shirt; we place them over chairs in rooms

Beside beds that set sail each night without expectation,

With us the crew, held together by love and by the faith

That we are buoyant enough to see any darkness through.