Only You Count as Old

Everything is young in this vision.

You deploy vision to ward away

Any panic you’re delusional

And think the world is really this way.

No, you know that this is just a scene

Of a place where everything was young—

Even, for instance, the mountain spring,

Even, for instance, the mountain side.

Have you ever seen a young mountain?

Here’s a sheer cliff of inky black stone,

Lava so fresh it’s almost smoking.

Everything isn’t equally young

By the count of orbits of the sun

But by where each is in its lifespan,

Which means this vision can only hold

An instant. The rhythms separate,

Everything aging by its own beat.

But first, can you sense how young this is,

How green and superfluous, how blurred

By the haze of the moment of youth?

Stretch and rest, you old happiness.