A Nexus of Love and Craft

I have never owned
a pickup truck
nor watched one fall
to rust
and yet I sense the sorrow
of decay.

I hesitate to share with you
another truth: in all my time
upon this earth
my dancing with the moon
has always been
a state of mind.

As for that gnarled oak
I wrote, I hold that old tree
dear, but the purpose
of that poem
is barely more
than metaphor.

The sea’s engaging song
is not my song,
but it is a part of me
and note, I do not
chase the wind
physically.

My internet connection
is functioning just fine
but based on others’ troubles,
if it were not, the X
would probably leave me here
to  rot.

As for the innocence that died
with just a sigh,
I was listening to Don Henley;
he sang a song so sad
it almost
made me cry.

Every new born poem,
every song that’s sung,
is a conglomeration of things
we’ve seen, things we’ve dreamed
and only sometimes,
things we’ve done.

 

3 thoughts on “A Nexus of Love and Craft

  1. BoardFlak

    My line is “My mind wanders, and I write down what it tells me when it returns.” I imagine the situation and then write from that viewpoint. Knowing that, I try very hard never to assume that “I” in a poem literally means the poet is the narrator.

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