White Hairs

and an easy mark.
The diamond cut glass
of your teeth when you smile into your chest
is an answer to a riddle
I thought had none.
We are approximations, clumsy facsimiles and metaphors.
You could look straight through
or blow past on the street corner
and not recognize me.
and an easy mark.
Every year I fade a little more
while your digital image
is crystal clear.
If you think of me
one night
while your lover is out felling stars
and look for me in your negatives
don’t fret the black scratches in my beard,
I’ve earned every one.