Touch Down (Poetry)

I was in my thirties when we talked about lifelines
and she took my hand and examined the palm
and said I’d die sometime in my seventies
which seemed okay because back then
it was still half a lifetime away.

Now in my sixties the perspective’s changed.
I fancy I glimpse a hazy set of landing lights
winking far off in the distance and
the plane that has up until recently
been cruising fairly steadily
dips its nose — begins a very gradual descent.
The engine changes tone
by the merest fraction of a note.

My subconscious dreams it hears the captain sigh
and put controls on automatic pilot.
He and I observe the cloudy months roll by
anticipating journey’s end
and I wonder if I’ll every be quite ready
for touch down.