I
I love to
see boards lying on the ground in early spring:
The
ground beneath them is wet, and muddy—
Perhaps
covered with chicken tracks—
And they
are dry and eternal.
II
This is
the wood one sees on the decks of ocean ships,
Wood that
carries us far from land,
With a
dryness of something used for simple tasks,
Like a
horse’s tail.
III
This wood
is like a man who has a simple life,
Living
through the spring and winter on the ship of his own desire.
He sits
on dry wood surrounded by half-melted snow
As the
rooster walks away springily over the dampened hay.