A second degree in Eighty One:
she maybe 2 or 3 days
older than me.
Did I say days?
In the old Celtic reckoning.
With age years have become like days.
I remember the old legend
of Rip van Winkle; falls asleep,
his 20 winks become at once
as many years long: wasted years.
Or not wasted, perhaps just spent
beyond the fellow’s cognisance,
in latent recognition.