What Matters   
 
                                                  The hair
                                                  whitens to snow
                                                  and assumes a kind of permanence
 
                                                 the hand
                                                 cannot unclasp
                                                 and lays a mottled lightness over mine
 
                                                 the eyes
                                                 translate blueness
                                                 through mist that cataracts to grey
 
                                                 we talk
                                                 or do not talk
                                                 it is only being here that matters