Old Man

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

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