“Since then–’tis centuries–and yet each

feels shorter than the day…”
Emily Dickinson 
 
 
 
An old man touches the ground.
Stone and dust, laced to tradition.
Where no–unlit–word is allowed,
an old man touches the ground.
 
Slow trace of a symbol for sound.
He is–only breath–a low vibration.
An old man touches the ground.
Stone and dust laced to tradition.
 
An old woman touches the sky.
Mist and wind, steeped in tradition.
Where no–unsung–word takes flight,
an old woman touches the sky.
   
Slow trace of a symbol for sight.
She is–only breath–a high vibration.
An old woman touches the sky.
Mist and wind, steeped in tradition.
 
The old couple, deaf and blind
receive no compensation.
bound work and bound in mind
an old couple, deaf and blind.
 
A slow pace–new–unbending kind.
No reward for labor, no transaction 
The old couple, deaf and blind
receive no compensation.
 
Arriving together     again
young and        again and again
then leaving              again