i meet my newly born grandson again
when he is a grandfather
when his own children have grown.
he tells me of the good life he’s had,
of hellos, goodbyes,
and weddings,
of the children he adored
much as he was adored,
looking now into the rearview mirror
of the vehicle that transports him
and his own young grandson
to land he loves
for a weekend
of whispering trees
ash and snow,
the jowls of life
descending upon his face
as he remembers
or imagines
when he was a boy
and his own grandfather
held him dearly
and promised him exactly this.