Hair In My Eyes Again makes me wonder
If like Sampson it means I’m getting stronger,
Or like a goat just that I’m getting older
and my woes longer and more immediate.
The skin on my toes is a different colour
to that of my feet and legs around the nails
which scratch my legs in bed. This will need
to be sorted if I intend sharing my bed again.
My hands are a thing of beauty, they just require
an artist’s touch to bring out the juice of carved wood
and slender branches that make up its tendons
and capillaries, bone and nerve ending.
One day when this is all just dust will I live on
in some other way? On another day will this bring a tear
to my eye or to that of my children’s who are still a
mere series of twists in their father’s genetic spirals?