Sixty-seven is a man
Invested purely in what ought to be,
X-ing out the barriers to will
That make it hard to see what one would see.
Yet years need not accomplish much, it
So does his passion sing
like dammed-up streams
Enveloping the islands that agree,
Vast armies of the afternoon, who still
Expect their words to keep their honor free,
Needing to sustain what hope redeems.