At Water’s Edge

When I am old
And feeling softly lost
Among the silver strands of hair
That stroke my face like slender reeds
At water’s edge

will you take my hand and draw me
through this tender abyss
captivating raptures as we weave our way
between the littered stars?

will you loosen the twigs
that tangle in the tresses of my spirit as it
drifts across the silent sound
coyly toying with the watchful herons?

will you hold me as I
ramble in and out of spatial palaces
and ramshackle rooms
built and filled with dreams and memories?

And
Will  you let me slip sylph-like
Into a permanent moonlight
Recalling the simple color of my eyes
When I am
Finally
old?