Putting my fishing gear away,
I pick up the rod
And see a fly attached.
How much it means to stand in
Worries left on the river bank.
The Battenkill beckons.
The winter sun through
the bare branches
reflected on the surface.
We’ll get to spring.
We always do.
December 12, 2021
(a new one by my friend David Belmont)
I’ve got those come and go blues
Gregg Allman, 1973
from the vantage point of an individual life
aging is an ongoing process that ends in death
from the vantage point of world history
deaths are wounds on the surface of a pond
from the vantage point of the universe
death and aging are barely distinguishable
(somewhere on the cosmic radar screen
but where? does it matter?)
another train leaving another station
sometimes you’re on it, sometimes you’re not
There’s a poem somewhere.
Is it in my head?
Is it in the yard?
Do the dogs hear it?
I hope so.
Do you want to?
I’d love it if you did.
If I wait any more,
Until I know what’s it’s about,
It may be lost forever.
December 10, 2021