No more digging in the garden
At least until tomorrow
When I turn sixty-eight
Now life begins to hold
The promise of a jigsaw
Where the pieces all fit
Except some have fallen
To the floor
And after finishing this poem
I’ll resume searching for them
More light
More light
The great poet said
But here on the darkening patio
It’s well enough to sit and listen
To the chittering birds
For whether they stem
From drugs guns or money
It takes a long while
To clear toxins
From your body
And to level up
Beyond fear and desire
In the extended play
Of a poet’s life