Grandfather

Driving the team, he came up over

the hill and looked down. in the white bowl

of the snow-covered valley, his house

was aflame like a wick, drawing up

into itself all that he'd worked for.

Once, forty years later, we passed.

It was October. The cellar

was filled by the flame of young trees.

I got out, but he sat in the back

and stared straight ahead, this old, old man,

still tight on the reins of his years.