Amal

A Poem by Douglas Caraballo

Photo by Mitchell Hartley on Unsplash

The first hints of silver creep across the head-
the winter of life reaches from the roots,
and my eyes are wider now.
What was formless is now framed.
The abstractions of youth amalgamate.

Who is in the mirror these days?
Asking with questionable hands
if this is but a dream.
The breath flows despite reduction.

like crackling river creeks running
through dried out logs,
smoking down the roots.

— I never knew that the arteries could
catch fire —

My heart is harder now.
the brain projects itself into
silver paint. Sees what it wishes to see.
Smiles as the world tumbles down smirking;
“I knew I was right”
— watching the sea part ways —