Old Ethan, Halfway Home

     - 02.02.2011, 2:17am MST 

Old Ethan like a walking stick. 
Sets him after the halfway pole,
fifty miles through dankling woods.

October throwed his scarecoat down.
November crowned the house with smoke.
December painted black days white.
Come January, ringnecks froze in place.
All’s still ‘til April flumes 
their melted songs to the sea.

Now Midwinter:

     a milepost on a swerving road,
     a weed in a tombyard. 

Turns him ‘round and marks for home.
Never know home until you get there.
Never know halfways at all.