Approaching sixty

I should be slowing down a bit,
Not chewing up the miles;
But my knee feels great out here
Climbing hills;
Eyes focused on the road ahead
Body weighted evenly above the pedals
A fluid, economic motion.
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a bicycle.
Why so painful climbing stairs?
No body’s perfect,
My yogi says,
You do what you can.
Each day I learn to stand on one leg,
Eyes pinned to my right mirror’s eye
Toes cannot grip the flattened matt
But strain, relax, search, find, and lose
The centered gravity in the gut
Above my foot.
A body in motion
Adjusts with each breath,
Parturient in part
And poised in process.