I read Bashõ and Kerouac at the same
time, often in a big garden swing,
aged fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and
both were going to exciting places,
physically and mentally, when I was
staying put, rooted like the big pine
beside the swing, and both are still
going to places even when they
are still dead, and I'm rooted here,
the swing long gone but the pine
standing firmly, having not grown
since, like, it often seems, my mind,
stuck to those open roads others
took to watch the Pacific
from opposite shores.
07.04.2024
#Poem Poem #Poems Poems #Poetry Poetry #Verse Verse
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