Fall Journey
Evening came, a paw, to the gray hut
by the river. Pushing the door
with a stick, I opened it.
Only a long walk had brought me there,
steps into the continued they
had placed before me.
I read weathered log, stone fireplace,
broken chair, the dead grass outside
under the cottonwood tree,
and it all stared back.
We have met before,
my memory started to say, somewhere....
And then I stopped:
my father's eyes were gray.
William Stafford
Posted over on William Stafford Archives
1 comment:
Gol dang. And I always know even before I read these they will hit me deep.
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