By Casey Stevens
A Glimpse of Future
Old I am—how the years have passed.
My hair, once brown, now grey and thin.
When I was young, my frame was trim.
This spry mirage will not outlast
my stiff bones in dust and in ash.
A child the light of mother’s grin
would quell the ghouls laying within;
if only death he could surpass.
Spring arrives, and summer goes:
sitting still in weeded garden,
chrysanthemums kiss my cheeks and mouth.
I while my time until the snow
when the ground begins to harden,
and weary geese flock to the South.
Casey Stevens earned an undergraduate degree in Chinese Language and Literature. He is fascinated by the influence of East Asian thought and art on western poetic tradition and seeks to blend his role as a translator of classical Chinese with his role as a poet. When not writing and working on graduate school applications at his home in Gloucester, Massachusetts, he spends his time hiking and running in New Hampshire, Maine and Vermont. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.