when i am old i wont do anything
but think
and run my life back and forward
in my mind
in translucent back-lit visions

the trek to the kitchen and back
a long journey
re-gaining at last the armchair
i will sleep
to dream dreams of the long gone days

i will develop a liking for jelly and custard
milk pudding
soup from a can and cheese with jam
cream cakes
and forget what i meant to have for breakfast

the taps will drip, the fire will burn cold
windows rattle
and the mice will move in unafraid
as company
to eat all the fabrics to tatters

i will confuse the books i have read
with memories
i will see the ghosts of my family
standing by
wondering if they will lead me away tonight

I wont care about any of this
watching light
watching shadows move across the walls, my clock
distant birds
i will ignore all bad news and live in imagination

drifting back to childhood again
so clear
with all my family gathered near
the dead ones
now will become a space between waking and sleep