Old Woman's Hands On a Grinding Stone
The coyote circles
he always circles
he shadows the path
of our existence
set by the pattern
of wind blown seeds
The old man sleeps
while his children
play by the fire
He thinks he is
still the slayer
of enemies
that are long gone
The crow waits
in a ragged nest
for us
to move on
My old heart
beats like this
grinding stone
it beats, it beats
and it beats
until it is still
like the dogs
in the afternoon
Sleep waits for me
like a white wolf
in the shadows
of that long line
of trees
Patient as water
he must wait for me
until I finish
my meal
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