I look pensive, stoic in this picture. Getting photographed is hard for me. Here I asked a dear friend to take author pictures, this was one I would normally trash. However, I so love when others are real and not smiling, and this fit the poem.



What if we gave into this
old as boulders,
down down
stretching to our toes
shoulders brick/boot
stomped and sore.

Threat of elders
bent at ninety degree angles
and mostly sheer will.
Sit up!
Up straight,
tree tall,
blades back,
chest forward.

Everything but
cavingcurling    allowingfollowing
Dear shouting shoulders
what?  what if?
They wrapped around us
until they knit together,
holding like we long to be held.
Would they release at last
sternum cracked?
An orchestra is tuning
for a symphony titled
There will be backup dancers
with wings, turquoise water
and hum.