Stirs its ashes and embers, its burnt sticks br br An eye powdered over, half melted and solid again br Ponders br Ideas that collapse br At the first touch of attention br br The light at the window, so square and so same br So full-strong as ever, the window frame br A scaffold in space, for eyes to lean on br br Supporting the body, shaped to its old work br Making small movements in gray air br Numbed from the blurred accident br Of having lived, the fatal, real injury br Under the amnesia br br Something tries to save itself-searches br For defenses-but words evade br Like flies with their own notions br br Old age slowly gets dressed br Heavily dosed with death's night br Sits on the bed's edge br br Pulls its pieces together br Loosely tucks in its shirtbr br Ted Hughesbr br