In Every Old Man

 .

I see myself in every old man

I see my father and I see all fathers

The way the water starts high in the mountains

Trickles of youth coming down

To form great rivers with great names

Starting high and eager

Roaring downward with curves which erode loving banks

Flooding and freezing and thawing and running

The fish of gods swim within their shoulders

Down there in the valley the river runs dry

Taken by the fields of our needs

The reservoirs of our desires

So too is the man

The last running drop of blood water

Drunk by the soil or the sun