Life was not easy, but neither was it hard. With each year went all he’d earned. But clothes were bought, utilities paid, kids fed, and she always warmed his bed. Then one day the kids were gone, his wife departed, the money grew, and he knew not what to do. So he pondered life and being, without the need for doing, without her tender touches, and the pulse of life still pounding, remembering well, desiring still. Then from the mirror, he decides, hunkers down in what he sees— an old man without appeal, quiet about what he feels.