When I was a child, I could fly.
Then I was ten.
A screen door slammed,
my wings fell off
and I learned to ground.
When I was young, I could stop time.
Then I was forty.
The curve of space slid behind me,
the clock spun through
and I learned to stand still.
When I was fifty, I could hold the sky.
My breath was wind.
Stars prickled my heart.
The I was old, and older.
Now I can smell the coming snow.