laughter and tears

oldbones

 

laughter and tears

 

we were once shiny, undented.

had baby after baby with limitless

perfect futures. we had answers, speed

and never enough time. we

were accelerating. last night

fall came to this mountain,

the face of the grey man

peering through the glass. this morning

we sit beneath a weakening sun

the leaves blowing about our feet

like so many small broken things.

your hand is warm in mine, and just so

am I blessed — so little survives

beyond laughter and tears.

darkness falls.

the trees across the river

draw down their blood in silence,

brace themselves for winter.

 

© 2019 jafink/oldbonesnewsnow.com

 

 

Wild is

frost

Wild is

(on the last flocks of November)

wild is small sharp sounds
rising through black, bare-limbed trees

wild is the weak
slant-light of morning

wild is uninvited, intrusive
discordant

wild is sudden

wild is imperative, urgent

wild is now and now
and now again

wild is a restlessness
a knowing
a coming together

wild is long fluid lines
spilling across an azure sky

wild is ragged and unstable

wild is perpetually adapting

wild is a fathomless
round eye

wild is feathers and fat,
muscle and hollow bones

wild is the cry of the straggler
desperate to catch up

wild is the cold hard fate
of those left behind

wild is thousands of wings

wild is the flock rising as one
over stubbled fields

wild is the wind

wild is the coming storm

wild is the snow
falling now in silence

to sanctify this precious

darkening world

 

 

© 2016 jafink/oldbones.newsnow.com

fall

Image

the birds know long before I

of this coming, this winter, the aching moans

of geese raining warnings

from the late summer sky.

 

most will soon be leaving,

sailing the invisible seams of gravity,

heading south ahead of the freeze.

but we will stay on,

 

 

as the days fall away.

I am the heir to generations of winter,

and winter will I leave

to my sons.

 

we are all Jacobs in this long night,

wrestling our angels — I will not release you

until you bless me. what

is your name?

 

we all crave grace, the unmerited gift

of exemption, yet we each must make this flight

alone, each must face

the coming of night,

 

each must rise beyond

the utility of words, passing through

on wings of angels, echoing

their aching moans

 

each of us flying south, each of us

heading for home

 

J.A. Fink © 2013