by Rick Lyon
Getting older, you get over things quicker.
Maybe it's just because there's more to get over,
always more, so you do.
You had better, you could say, just to keep up.
Pretty soon, you're wondering what the problem was,
wondering less and less.
It's a lot like watching the seasons have their way with the pasture.
Nothing much but rock and mud for a good long while,
then the guaranteed green, the horses,
and some morning, this morning, it's all awash with yellow flowers.
That's what breaks your heart now.
They'll bury the old horse tomorrow,
and lots else, elsewhere.
You're a little amazed you're still here, really, and that's good.
That what you think about, some nights, if you're lucky--
that you're just there, like those flowers,
and just there's good enough.
(BOA Editions Limited, Brockport, NY, 1994)
Trying to find the poetic voices that help me write. This guy makes the cut.