Motes Might, Mites Don't

Aging so rapidly backwards,
Benjamin Button gets younger
Faster than others get older
And suffers the consequences.

Forgive it and get on with it.
Fitzgerald was dead at your age,
And at the age your wife died young,
But alive and miserable when

He drank his way past Mozart's death.
Annus mirabilis, annus
Horribilis. All calendars
Are horrible, miraculous,

Because there is no magic year,
Only years in which likely things
And unlikely things reoccur,
Those illusions of being things.

The sun setting early these days
Shines on the side of your window
And illuminates life and death
In a rejuvenating dust.