Feet underneath, sky above. Still in the right position for a Monday.
Still wishing I could fly, right here and now,
arms outstretched, back muscles ready to churn up a wind.
I might be aging, but I'm not old.
That bright lightness of youth is still in my back pocket,
a rub of it on my life right now is enough to get me up and dancing.
Suppose that what I stored up in youth is yet deployable,
a redolent whiff of energy playing to my stiff nostrils and arguing feet.
In mind, heart, hips, feet, and fancy, I dance.
Life ain't got the best of me yet, and I haven't given it all I have to give.
Praise be, and swagger 'round the kitchen a while.