Everyone should grow a beard, too long,
without regard for your face. And lick it
to taste the coffee. Lick it, to taste the thoughts
wound round a finger when not thinking
but simply indulging in the pleasure
of twisting hair. But one must not watch
the grass grow. Or notice the way
your children change, inch by inch:
sometimes reasonable, sometimes
so shriveled as the puckered skin
you held whole from palm to elbow.
No, wind that into your greying beard.
Wind it in to be licked later,
or brushed out when trying to be smart.