Age And Aging, Against And Again Poem by Zachary Zuccaro

Age

The baby sits in an armchair
recollecting her existence as an old man.
The age at which his eyes were the same colour
as her tears.



Aging

I watch
my skin
drip
from my bones
into a puddle
on the floor.




Against

A unique configuration of atoms and consciousness
yet no distinction desires elaboration.
Perhaps tomorrow, again.




Again

Unreuiatedly frustrated
at the persistent inability
to circumvent the dam
retaining the mildew
of unexplored potential.