beau sturm

chaak

an old man sweeps his
packed dirt floor
just prior to closing
for siesta.

his khaki pants
have worked hard.
his tattered straw hat,
feet of stone,
and hands of wisdom
are only bested by the smile
letting on that he knows
how good it can be.

no matter how deep
you stare into
the calm of his face;
it will not tell
how the lines were drawn.

what was abierto
is now cerrado.
for a time.

gently settling into
a wooden chair
painted worn by time.
eyes that know what it is
to live for life
stare out into a lush
green nothing.