"The real trick to life is not to be in the know, but to be in the mystery."
-Fred Alan Wolf

10 May 2016



From one of the draws, out of a mountain
across plains heavy with grass or dry 
bleached and cracked by sun

He came
rifle easy in his hand, a hunting dogtrot
in his heart, brain singing with the hunt
the need for a kill

Old mountain men, born
and raised for the power of their backs and arms
valuing themselves little past those physical
strengths, and what survival finally cost them
when the necessities, time disappeared
with the game

Old men sitting on porches or scratching out
gardens, their blue black brown green eyes
cutting out a trail that now only hawks
dare follow

Out of the North come the snows
falling on storebought windows.  Old men get
laid into frozen earth, their big hands
holding scars like lilies the coming Springs
may never bear again . . . . . . .

Keith Wilson 

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