Tenderly, I look over the face
like a map of the earth. The older one,
who once looked down into my face
as I looked up, grinning.
His little one.
How the years pass like a river.
All the notes of our voices float up as light
and vanish.
You and I sit in our own deep silences.
I hear soulful ringing of the steeple bell,
from somewhere deep in your belly.
I feel pressed to say something,
polite talk of yesterday, however
I cherish the moment.
Your soul may leave us here
empty-handed.
A beautiful agate slipping from the fingers
of mother's hand,
caught in the last of the last sun,
or a few old bones
with their well-loved wrinkled fabric.
I sit with you in silence. Look out the window.
It rains a little. We change the subject,
travel to Yellowstone in the old blue Chevy,
smile at each other in contentment,
watch the wolves begin to weave out
across the meadow.
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