Crinkles

Crinkles

I am the same me,
just crinklier round the edges.
Smile the crevices deeper, hourly
into my time-worn face.

Disturb the shadows and find
scarab beetles of adventures
scurrying for rocks.
Worms of red veins, the
stains spread to the next chapter.
Hermit crabs wave claws
catch scraps of life drifting by,
while myriads of shelled friends
cling comforted,
to my warm, mossy wood.

I wonder when crinkles are all people see
will I still be recognised
as who I am, as me?