I am 66, he 33.
This will never happen again.
He is catching up with me.
If he lives to be 1000
And I am still alive,
I will be 1033.
By that time
California will be a desert.
But we will sit in an old growth forest
In what used to be Alberta
And we will talk about things
That would only interest 1000-year-old men.
Not health, because
We would have mastered the health-thing.
No, we will talk about dreams
And yogurt and colors.
Also, we won’t be using words
But whistles, like the birds
Who will, I like to imagine, flourish
After the Climate Crash of 2053.
I will smile and look into his craggy face
And he will see how much I love him.
And I will see his love for me.
I really like having an old soul!
It makes it easy to see beyond
And feel OK with the possibility that
Things may not get better
For a long, long time.