twilit

the limits to my creative spirit
eek out of the liver spots
cropping up on my skin,
once unblemished,
now puckering itself up
for whatever good will comes
its way. my words too,
less gumption. less pizzazz.
horn arrangements in the halcyon days
remind me of what the sun felt or
rolling down another hill or
flinging myself with abandon
into a pile of leaves or
trying to flip on a trampoline.
trying to get closer to some feeling.
trying to let any old song
feel new. hoping there is
still some time for me 
to flourish. for me to 
have something to say.