JVD

Thanks for stopping.
Don’t hope for too much.
Would you witness
creation? What
can I do except fix
something for you,
and even that’s bound
to be second hand.

Look for yourself–
tonight the wind pants
like a leather bellows,
the moon is a gong
in the eastern sky
and the dark patch of dirt
in the flowers nearby
is the grave of a squirrel
buried still-frame,
eyes open, legs wide,
just as hit by a car.

You think it’s a trick?
I suppose you mean
you didn’t see till
I said it. Are you cold–
or afraid? Well, don’t stand
outside. Come in, come in,
and sit down by the words.