Wednesday, September 9, 2015

At the end of a wooden handle

This glorious day, right where you find it,
at the end of a wooden handle,

(picture a tool no one understands or remembers how to use)

part butterfly
part leaf
part sail
part rib
part grief
part riverbed

(part grandfather-scent of earth-dyed figs)

autumn a harbor
autumn a need
autumn a child
autumn a love
autumn a grave
autumn a sun

autumn, live grass dying
autumn, dead grass living
autumn, the last dried sage in your hand


(and how the wood feels in your hand)


Magyar said...

__Interesting flow, and that interest had spurred this echo... in complement.

natures hair
parallels comb this site
rake handle

__Just my humble -haiku- of a sight of that which I had imagined; this wooden rake handle. Of course it could have been >sight< instead of >site<. Smiles. _m

Jonathan Chant said...

Sums up the season nicely - lovely tempo to this poem - that comes with a very handy handle. Like Magyar's comment too.

William Michaelian said...

I do too, and I was about to tell him so, when yours appeared, which I also like, and so now I’m telling you both.

And so it’s a rake, then. Or now, rather.

And since this reply is going nowhere you have not already been, I will say thanks and let it end.