Thank God for subtle changes.
More dramatic changes would have me
foaming at the mouth,
screwed up in the head.
The grass shooting high after rain
doesn’t bother me.
Nor the flowers blooming
or shutting down their petals at night.
But her hair grows imperceptibly.
And the hue darkens slow
as the skin hardens.
Thank God for all that.

I need people to age as I age,
evolve at such a rate my evolution
can keep pace.
My head wishes for the days unending,
each morning just a nudge on
from the one before.
And the people, long may they remain
in who they are this moment.
And the moment.. .thank God
that it has time.

Australian-born poet John Grey has been a US resident since the late seventies. He works as a financial systems analyst. He was recently published in Connecticut Review, Georgetown Review and Illumination, with work upcoming in Poetry East, Cape Rock and the Pinch.