land’s become copper and rust
but for a few golden strands
of heavy-headed grass
spears tall, yet avoided harvest
appetites of roving deer
will soon consume them, too,
overcoming fears, that gray-band
of asphalt they dance against
they stand silent, await frost
certain to repaint the place
as cotton clouds, my breath,
remind the lie of endless life
clutched fast in cold-numbed limbs
this web of brittle bones,
like the huddled trees outstretched,
is tossed in bitter winds
and in there I lost your face
the body stooped and shuffled away
with never a backward glance
taking our childhoods with you,
old man
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
land’s become copper and rust
but for a few golden strands
of heavy-headed grass
spears tall, yet avoided harvest
appetites of roving deer
will soon consume them, too,
overcoming fears, that gray-band
of asphalt they dance against
they stand silent, await frost
certain to repaint the place
as cotton clouds, my breath,
remind the lie of endless life
clutched fast in cold-numbed limbs
this web of brittle bones,
like the huddled trees outstretched,
is tossed in bitter winds
and in there I lost your face
the body stooped and shuffled away
with never a backward glance
taking our childhoods with you,
old man
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