The Old Man – a poem

The old man paused on the bridge
a favorite stop
upstream of the lazy oxbow

where a boy once watched
the milky gold
afternoon light

spill through the alders
into empty space
over still water

its silent weight
filled the air

suspending dragonflies
as they patrolled the cattails


as if they knew
the lateness of the hour.

By markthegrey

I am a biologist, author, poet, professor, and parent. I nest in Aurora, IL with my spouse and about two to four kids.

4 replies on “The Old Man – a poem”

Knocking it out of the park yet again. I’m back in Creative Writing…bringing you next week for show and tell. Pointing to a poet I used to eat dinner with. 😉 xox


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