Wondering About His Crevices

his face has deep crevices like the grand canyon I wonder how many ideas dwell in their recesses blue eyes are alert, I can see his youth in their shine he turns the second he meets my eyes perhaps I remind him of a daughter, as he reminds me ot things long gone of my grandpa, of TV westerns, of what my face will be like someday his hat is worn, his horse is slow, he hobbles toward the barn I stay out of his way, wondering about his crevices