Firewood

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

       smiled.

       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.