passing thoughts on age.

honestly,

I’m less ethereal than I used to be

I’m less of something

and more of something else

I am not a good human

I know it

without knowing

the measure

— — —

and I like age —

abandoning perfection

drawing from the waters of

experience and time

— — —

I see myself as a net

sometimes when I rest

folded on the dock of a ship

I get to see what I caught

only some of it intentionally

but then I think, this image

does not hold, as the net

does not become the things

it has gathered, yet then again,

perhaps I do not either.