Saturday, July 30, 2011


My wood stack has a curve to it
       each morning I look out my window
       to see if it has fallen over

stacking fire wood is an art
each piece like each word
       is irregular
the hump of one fits
the hollow of another

       when I was young an old farmer
       saw me stacking wood and said
       “it’ll fall down”. I looked at my
       plumb bob straight work and
       It took 20 days, the stack
       leaned like a dozing drunk
       and landed face down.

I had built my stack east to west
one side parched by the warm sun
the other sucked in the cool green shade

now I stack north to south
and like these words, these lines
have a curve to them

take pleasure in imperfections
       carress each piece, each word
look through the window
       of your life and follow the curve.

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