Wind, Sand and Waves

But then, looked
In the mirror
And saw the gray hair—
Damn!

Where have the years fled?

Why can’t that youth
On the inside of us
Come out?

The insect machine,
The human machine,
Are all subject
To the same law;

One would think
The mind
Could jog the body
And help us endure.

Still, I came back from the lake
With tousled hair—

Next time
I’ll grab hold of that feeling
And to hell with hallway mirrors!