Playing

My body was never my playground.
I played my mind.
Unlike Thomas, I trusted in time
and found time wrought
a miracle in bringing together
into one straight line
my thought
with the mental weather
where my mind had climbed.

Now with more than four-fifths of life gone,
I glory in muscle and eating,
my belly lean.
Now I think in poems,
using meter and sometimes rhyme
that together drive
home ideas I would
otherwise, never have thought of.

My brain is taught, finally, by the movements of my body:
the right and wrongs,
the smiles and the frowns that embody
what my voice avows
when it lifts from the page
in saying
what to say makes true.

Time is still an invaluable instructor:
what to keep and lose,
to cherish and, at last, let go;
so that what I choose
is never simply an answer.
What my body in itself finds beautiful,
mind can’t refuse.