Blue Woods for an Old Man

Blue Woods for an Old Man

An old man

wanders woods in rain,

morning's blue drizzle

dripping through

an hourglass of leaves.

Time stays behind

his aimless path,

eyes failing,

stones in silence pass,

grey steps bathed green,

ears deaf still hear life's endless

thirst born within each seed.

Brown eyes,

blurry puddles

blind, look up feeling

infinite sky-

clouds drifting down to graze

the gravied treetops-

every white bite's

clatter of crumbs,

between enormous roots,

their plunging tongues in black soil,

he drinks antique earth's fragrance

and sways.

In the distance

calling his name,

a dim voice

echoes off pelting rain,

 standing trees,

sitting stones.

Time finds him and remembers home.

Out woods through fields

he slowly comes,

each farewell soft to tree and stone,

for nothing lasts,

his last walk home.

Inside the house,

 his rain soaked fur,

words scolding worry

muddy paws,

head hanging shame,

he's sent to bed,

 fire lit to warm old tired legs,

then sleeping, dreams

he's young again-

in fields where hours

let him run,

in fields where freedom's youth

was strong,

it seemed he'd always be

that dog.