“She looks young for her age” Is supposed to be a complement
One of the highest bestowed on a woman
But gravity is the enemy of flesh
It twists and tugs and thrusts,
Forcing folds and fissures
Carved by mysterious forces
Like ancient landscapes shaped by time
Where smooth planes and prominent peaks once held court
What stories do bodies tell?
What avant-garde aches and pains will take up residence
And influence creative ways of being?
How tired can eyes become?
When does bending become permanent?
When does permanence become impermanence?