Wild Before Winter
In my meadow luxuriates the green world
Preening itself before the yearly catastrophe of frost
One green burst of curls flung forward like a boy's
head of hair brushed over his face in football.
Now I, in my eightieth year, stripped of my defenses
Flying, drunken winds blow at my back, crashing
gleefully, turn the green world dark too soon.
Now wild before winter, in my age, deserted by my sins
Cold words spoken to my children returning hot now
to blister my heart
No more the nights with love, betrayal, obsession,
Old man, wild before winter, still childish
My little river running past as if nothing will happen
As if ice will not encase it