Now that I am growing old, the circle darkens
under the eye.
Fingers broken in a long forgotten fall
What mattered once has been broken
into small and smaller measurements of the space
we all are falling through.
The one I love calls me by a name that is no longer mine.
Her voice is like the Gulf, silver and curling.
The name she calls me is one wave of sound within her, a wave
flecked with tar.