Advance Directive

Look at our shiny foreheads, 
our cheeks 
           that haven't yet  
lost all trace of softness from 
youth. And look  
                at the way we
stand, our toes either pointing
awkwardly toward each other or 
fanned out 
           the way dancers' do; 
at the indentations on our shoes 
where a bone out of joint pressed 
against leather, 
                 where an insole 
cushioned uncertain tread.
But there's still
                  so much we
can't fathom, can't know
enough to prepare for—
What weather
             ahead, what state
of being in the world; how to gather
wishes 
       to make our will known.