Poem 071407

STAY

As the curtains waved, he stared at them and realized his life.

The hole in the cloth,
a ship in the Bering sea.

The leaves dove past him,
the days in the year were silent.

Darkness was nestling in,
his age was a strangle (or a noose).

He knew the bear on the hill was asleep and dying,
He knew the swan (draped in the silt of the world)
had lost her feathers to fly.

Still or creeping, it was an effort.
And still the creeping was effortless.

And still was all he could be
until the ship sailed to the bottom,
the swan flew without feathers,
and the bear slept without rest.

-Chase C. Adams