Time has run through
golden fields of hay
and swam the moss-covered
ponds in the soft amber
light of dawn.
There are shards of
beauty in the
rubble of a broken life.
Those summer days
crawled
like
a
grumpy
tortoise.
Then galloped on by, like
a bareback colt.
I fed on the breast of life,
grew strong, and free.
And now,
those November birds
are