Senescing

With time, our joints are loosened by winds,

By scouring sands in the winds,

By soaking rains hauled from high mountains,

By quakes that crack us open, leaving us helpless

Against the brutish rush of the elements.

We raise walls to keep them away –  

Will the wildness of time away,

But soon we’ll be lost in their insatiable lust, 

And the magic of the moon will mean nothing.