Cataract

http://www.cynthiawoodphoto.com/#a=0&at=0&mi=2&pt=1&pi=10000&s=4&p=0
Remember when
there was so much more
to this place, burgeoning
in the hours before
dust had settled
along the planes of crackling cane
shelves.
Peripheral eyes catch the glimmer
of memories
from shifting mirages
of a past life,
where walls bleed together
effortlessly.

One can almost imagine Arthritis rising
reluctantly from that desk chair,
rubbing his joints
with the resigned creaking
of old bones.
Too old for this job, he thinks,
sipping from a chipped mug
filled with tea-steam.

Scuffed black orthopedics shuffle
to the double doors,
where rivulets of daybreak
stream through the smudged glass.
His thick joints wrap around the handle,
and with slow deliberation,
the wood parts like the Red Sea.
Blinking,
Old Age steps out into the light.