A Quickening

My night had passed me moving as slow pain
Dressed all in my rose Sunday best I left up the empty bank
All smiles in thought of nothing anymore of dreary
Care worn threadbare bone rack and slipped skin aside
Untwisted for me my muscle mains and my body sauntered
No skip more but far old enough to be well beyond abc and 123
To the glass gate that slid away to hear a voice more awake
The blind woman who reminded me about precious time
So that I quickened and carried the cup draining not to spill more
Ran all the way from then to I sit back down now prepare to sleep
Through the door that swung into this most welcoming fading light
Savoring everything as I round and on the beginning end