Growing old I love the quiet that used to

disturb me. I have distance on my life.

The boast and pity of self-regard

have fallen somewhat behind.

Heading home, the home I carry with me,

I settle into the clouds. On the mountain

I sit quietly in a sage meadow

visited by the same bees that make lovers

of flowering bushes.

I become part of the golden comb hidden

in the hive humming with delight.

From the Fall 2010 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 27, No. 1)

© 2010 Stephen Levine