Mutability

The colour of my eyes and the clicking
        in my chalky bones,
the falling asleep and the nodding off,
        the recurrent cough,
the weariness, the modulating tone
        of my speaking voice,
my inelegant poise and how my mood
        shifts like Birnam Wood
when my body leaks: a ruptured gutter
        that loves no other
more than my young self when vim and health
        were so plentiful
and drawing breath was not the death rattle
        that it is today.