Old men in love, awakening stiff
In their joints and contemplating the hard
Task of getting up into the day,
Dream of past mornings. They remember cocked
Hips and bent knees, and the pressing
Engagements that rose reliably as green
Shoots of crocuses and tulips
In dense and urgent clusters out of spring.
But old men in love let go their pricks
Of memory and turn to watch with crooked smiles
What they’ve rarely considered
Over lifetimes—their slow-swirling currents of blood
Thickening, as the waters where river
And harbour meet grow tangled and slow with silt.