Stoned
… or we may send over the earth a wave
of electricity traveling at any rate we desire,
from the pace of a turtle up to lightning speed.
If I could
I wood. Yeah
I’m a blockhead
cutting cherry for firewood.
This log a table.
That a bookcase.
Or a wall carved
with poems that could
last like stone. Maybe.
But no thing lasts long.
The pink grain and glow
of each cut
has its own beauty
fleeting as the words
winged inland from the fierce
and constant ocean breeze.
Ten of Spades - Robinson Jeffers