“The old people were moving slowly
through the cold air like exhausted swimmers
fighting the tides of a lung-raping sea.
But, the sun had its high beams on
and near the creek children were laughing
and moving as fast as spit on a hot woodstove.
Grandfather, it was a good day to pray.
Grandfather, it was a good day to pray
that the young would somehow get to be old….”
full poem at http://poems3.blogspot.com/, from his collection “Ceremonies of the Damned”