Saturday, July 23, 2011

Too Tired To Rest


with men as with caterpillars
nothing was chanced
the penniless world was hemmed in
by mountains on three sides
with gibbons and cranes to seem endless

gradually three or four flowers
tiny divots of earth
by the tens of thousands
and a skein of fine white sewing silk
appeared on my coat and hat

but to allow for the ouroboros
that lives in my living room
perched on the caldera's rim
and over my shoulder
like the white bird you can't see

the spyglass drew a cocoon
beating a drum in the doorway
of my own raising
so many misshapen wishes
too tired to rest or return home

-Dave Brinks

No comments:

Post a Comment

Say something.