Old
Man Noble
with
this ghost-string hair,
watches
from the stables
where
the horses gather him
in like
family. He smells
of
their hide, shares the same
black
eyes, the steely stare.
star stragglers in her wake.
All
is silence while he hums
the
memory of his yesterdays,
turning
driftwood into gold.
These
days are charmed for him,
not
steeling the warmth within.
sigh
and shuffle beside him.
They
lay down as he sleeps,
sharing
their body heat.
And
in the Dreaming time,
he listens
to the chicken
bones
sing.
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