Stasis

I have sat here many winters
as the stars passed over,
trees thickened,
and grass grew.

I have pondered many things
with the passings
of the mean, and the few.

Have I tales to tell
of decision, perturbation,
of bones and means,

of demolishings, and 
small, cool flames
held in the hand so
they would not run; and
ware

of crossroads and sad
eyes staring through the 
panes?  No - for they

would not let you see,
have you view
the roads I came by,
the roads I knew.

previous poem

next poem