Then ice. That was desire's request. The bears
sought to lie on the color of their fur.
Their ice. I remember the man I called
Old Man, whose life was younger than my own,
to him age meant nothing, he had the streets
behind him, and they were all I had loved,
could not wait to flee from my country home.
He died the second day of March, eighty-six
and only his body was old. I choose
wisdom. He had no choice, wise from the start.
Our friend the photographer who lives where
Haines died called a week ago, said the winds
are not only harsh this winter but fierce
enough to spill you, walking, on the earth.
And so it happens. And that is the end
of his body. His soul stays in his books.
(4 March 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander