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| PAPER AND STONE
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Tree upon tree of sliced pages,
with twisted, hacked
and hollowed words:
my discarded poems.
Not quite touched
by the beauty of streams
cutting through snow.
More like the clashing of pots
and lids falling from cupboards.
Scrap paper enough to wrap the outside
of our house, the chestnut trees,
and the fence.
But still Jake chooses
to draw the bodies of spiders
and cavemen, a few rough birds,
on his arms and legs.
Just like Hanshan,
the Chinese hermit poet,
who wrote poems
on mountain stones, worn away
by wind. We honour
these temples made of bone.
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from The Wind is a Tall Man Striding
watershedBooks
2000
Copyright © Jim Slominski |
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