The .5 - Dec. 12, 2025

turning sixty was hardly noticed

one more pink-orange sunset,

that maybe lingered a bit longer

sixty-five arrived and I shrugged

at the new wrinkle in the mirror

and reached for the face crème

seventy I braced for,

landing softly in a new decade,

ignoring the “happy” in birthday

but yesterday – what a shaker

seventy-three and a HALF

somehow the extra point 5

made it an earthquake realization

that the end of the line is coming

that the train has already crested

the mountain on a downhill run

as the sun sets and a dusky fog

spreads across the valley

we know it’s impossible in the dark,

to know the time of arrival at the

last station, unlit in its finality,

until we hear

the wheels start to squeal