Time Passing -- A Miscellany of Poems; ŠThor May 1996 index
Your deft hands worked the steel
And cut my deadwood
Back to winter sap.
See the scar, memory in our flesh.
Now, this sunny afternoon,
This ten minute world singing
Between the uncoloured clash of words,
Sings warmth, warm to the bone.
These dappled leaves, new on the vine,
Prim with afternoon shadows,
Still in the air, deep in space,
Rhyme with the sun singing.
We have a season's turn to grow, you and I.
But the steel is my god;
And soon again you will cut me deep.
Deep in the numb bone,
Down to winter sap.