52/365: running on old trails

running along the Brazos
in the twilight before dawn
there is a misting rain
and this is a moment
when the fairy world
blends with ours -

I can hear the earth
drawing in breath
as her sun cracked skin
is eased.

there is an old man
setting three fishing poles
in stands, their lines already cast
into the darkness

as I pass him I hear
"man is made for destruction
but not defeat."
it is in Cuban Spanish
which of course I can understand
because this is twilight
and the path I am on
runs between worlds

but I do not know if these
were the old man's words,
or if it was just the wind
and the rain
and the sound of my feet.

today when the sun is high
I will go to the house of a scholar named John
and we will speak of the past
and we will speak of the future

but I will be thinking of the fish
who were tempted.