Resurrection of Time Now Dead By a Poet Who is Going Blind, #5

RESURRECTION OF TIME NOW DEAD
BY A POET WHO IS GOING BLIND, 5


The logs in the woodpile stacked
by the tin shed
Began to breath.
The logs felt the air of spring
and become exuberant,
But the logs were sad,
As the logs remembered spring festivals
and May poles.

Winter is gone, so the logs won’t be burned.
But the log now happy and expanding
with breath their wood,
Roll from their pile,
Destroy the arrangement by human intelligence,
And the human beings are perturbed
That the neat arrangement the human mind
Can so easily be destroyed.
The logs are covered with gasoline and burned,
Like heretics are burned at a stake.
The human beings go inside to air conditioners
So they will not feel the heat
Of logs burning on a warm spring day.


Duane Locke

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