Relection

I see him in the window at the mall
sitting at a table among the ravages
of the food court, as the coyotes pass
in packs on the prowl, pre-holiday feast

he has the look of one too many winters
the signal fires which used to dance
in his eyes inviting and hopeful, flicker
smothered from trail dust of the herds

hair once vibrant as waves of summer wheat
now lies shocked and shorn, as if harvested
by some manic day laborer, uneven unkempt
allowed to remain fallow far too long

the pallor of impending storm has drained
the color from his skin, the furrows
which cross his countenance suggest
he has suffered more than his fair share

of silent nights and solitary mornings, present
in the uncertainty of this season, where ice
and cold are seen as welcome, only by those
who return to warm hearths and welcoming hearts