Youth (for Hank)

youth

is a white horse

running into the hills.

as it runs,

its legs become

supple, strong,

terse,

like the tendons running through

the most brilliantly simple prose.

but then lines begin to develop,

sink

into furrows,

its legs buckle.

it dies thirsty

beside the clearest stream

never seen,

and the nomad's eyes

weep

as he looks on

past this scene of loss

to the gloaming

descending down

on

the white fields of nirvana.