it is weird to be a grandfather
but no-longer a grandson
and probably weirder still
to be a great grandfather
but no-longer son
and maybe no-longer brother
and maybe no-longer husband
to have a son
that is a grandfather
as the cycle trundles

our identities both fade
into inconsequential history
and simultaneously thin
into time and future
until we are light as feather
and can go where we please
with neither baggage
nor fixed destination
and the wind that sung
in our no-longer childhood
sings to us again
songs of carriage and passage
and we must relearn
the old language we spoke
before speech