There was a moment at the end of youth,
I sat upon a rock and watched the breeze.
As seeds and tufts and other fancies flew,
I read the writing of the earth preserved
In granite by a withered dry creekbed
And felt in me the want to take up ink.
As termites scarified a heart in wood,
The richness of wild minutiae took hold
And laughter bellowed out my slack-jaw mouth.
My life doubled in years but no more known,
I came again to sacred stone and trees
A little way from where I had grown up,
A little way from love that I had lost,
Sat still and watched the daytime moon pass near.
I bushwhacked through my ego to a lake
And with a snake and catfish swam carefree.
That nature must destroy me now and then
Is a lesson aging nicely, I think.