Where You Are

The pretty ones are too pretty to know their places.

The young are never too young, the old never yet old,

The toothless are laughing

or silent in dark transformation.

In the lamb's eye or the tiger's mouth,

comfort creeps into discomfort.

Acceptance or apathy adjusts
the pinks pains and grey aches

while the object of years is the same

from one death to the next.

Still the broken heart keeps beating.