(as we’re all supposed to)
grasping, for support,
whatever furniture comes to hand.
Feel your leverage strengthen
in a newly visible horizon of legs:
four-square chairs, a table, grown-ups.
Tumbles become fewer
and plastic bones will rarely fracture
in the forest of hardened verticals.
Make your entrances matter
(each year is merely a fleeting stage).
From one small step go further –
run, leap, dance – quick then quicker,
only slow when you near the brink
of falling down.
Windows in the sky
are not for climbing through;
even should the breaking waves below
sound like paradise.
Just keep going
(old people say this all the time)
and second guess the hazards:
kerbs and slopes, stairs and rugs,
spills, pets, darkness.
Risk grows in likelihood and consequence.
Don’t clutch at old regrets with flailing limbs,
take an outstretched hand.
When you reach that place you can no longer stand
better to have walked there.
xii. 2020
