In the afternoon light, I'm sitting
in the cool dimness of the living room,
translating the lines of Auden falling
in rhythm more consistent than
the hammer of my father on nails &
making objects out of carved pieces
of wood; discarding that rhythm of
an alien language, I take the languid
language of the landscape outside
the tall windows, its blue stillness,
the slow movement in the breeze of
the branches of the fir tree we planted
fourty years ago, and try to give
something of that to replace the alien
rythm, a movement that doesn't try
to hammer the world into a metal
shield. A wooden one will do.
15.05.2024
#Poem Poem Poems #Poems Poetry #Poetry #Verse Verse
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