Hearing the Beat

It occurs to me, while splashing water on my face, that there will come a time when I can’t wash my own face, that someone else will wipe a damp cloth across my forehead and down my cheeks, wipe the dinner residue from my lips, and smile at me, all clean like a baby fresh from a bath in the kitchen sink, all this being something that will happen or not, I may die before I’m unable to wash my face, but if not, there is no dread, one must relax into being tended, relinquish power when it is time, but only when it’s time, before then it’s premature surrender, pretending to be unable when one is still muscular and strong, if withered in many places, the timing of this is everything, that becomes clearer as time passes.