in the wild untended fields of my heart
sits an old man. the day is late but warm
and the low-angled light spreads like butter
over the tall grass. his beard is white
gone beyond gray and his hair, long and thin
shifts with the wind. he wears an old vest
of many colors, stitched with threads of silver
and his boney white feet sit bare upon the earth.
his hands, held still on his long legs, bear the marks
of a lifetime of choices — he sits beyond judgment
beyond all expectation — he’s been waiting
for a very very long time. he breathes as I breathe.
his soft blue eyes are clouded now
from having witnessed a life, while in the distance
the witches voices rise in round to the beating sound
of his heart– he has always known this singing—
he has known all of the songs of the world.
we are all of us sorcerers,
all singers of this single deathless song.
© J.A. Fink, november 2011