I am worn weathered wood.
I have seen the storms,
felt the hot sun,
endured the wind until
I am cracked.
My colours have faded into
burnt siennas from red under
the sun’s rays.
I have seen the owl at night and
the hawk in the day for
I am a window in this wood,
this weathered wood.
I am a window or
I am nothing.
I am a window.
Sneek up, take a peek
into my panes.
She will be there, sitting
at the table
having her tea
or holding her cat
quietly
***
AND TO LAST
and to last
through
the moment
to last through
the
moment
and to notice the
moment
the flower
the
rose
purpose
you ask of purpose
ask not
ask the rose
***
a vision
today i had a vision that
when i’m on my death bed
when the light shines bright
and i begin to float away
the last thing that i will hear
againt a background of oprah
or dr phil
will be a discussion of dietary fiber
and regular bowel movements
***
he
doesn’t live that life so he
gets up every morning and joins the crowd
Which shore?
He said petals from an appletree
yes petals from an appletree
and leaves falling silently
Which shore?
He said petals from an apple tree
and
summer music
and the summer breeze
and he washes up on the hundredth poem or the thousandth poem or
footsteps on a stair,
washes up on the shores of reason and reaches
washes up with the wordbarrel
empty.
***
David Michael Jackson 2005