Arts/Literature

Old Ethan, Halfway Home

          - Imbolc 2011, 2:17am MST

Old Ethan like a walking stick, daylong shadow:
sets him after a halfway pole
fifty mile through a
dankling woods.

October throwed his scarecoat down.
November framed those woods a house of smoke.
December painted the black days white.
Come January, the ringnecks froze in place.
Treelocked they'll sit 'til April
flumes their melted songs to the sea.

Now Midwinter:

          a milepost on a swerving road,
          a weed in a tombyard.

Turns him 'round and marks for home.
Never know home until you get there,
never know halfways at all.

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4 replies »

  1. I never know what to say.

    I like it. Without reservation of any kind. And you know how very, very rarely that happens with me.