Old Woman

Remind me to get off on
being an old woman,
to love this husk

of body even as
it peels away
from all that is left

of me. Tell me,
in no uncertain terms,
to celebrate 

the letting go, the falling
away and the eventual
discarding. Please read

to me a poem
about love
when soft shapes

and colors
are all that are left
of my vision,

and pink sunrise walks
have receded to dreams.
Remind me

about freedom,
and of the great,
dark mystery

that I spent
a lifetime trying
to understand.