Evasion

His voice becomes the distant howl of the wolf in the desert. 

Where rivers of life parch themselves on the sand floor in the anger of a midsummer day;

The dreams of youth exuberantly painted the barren wilderness’s heaven 

In siren like colors of pacific blue and turtle shell green.

He is no longer found in this calcified enclave of memories.

He can be found racing beyond infinities rim toward his own being

Where the astonished wonder of first full embers of new born faith exist 

And the springs of inner delight is found in the wrestling of one’s twilight black heart

The place where personal peace and final stillness find there dynamic working.

He is never where we first catch him in the power of his repose.