Immobility

For a small in number years I roamed the region Pennsylvania, Alabama, Oregon, I pok the padded bonnet

Of my little rusty car into each corner, I ate crawfish in Baton Rouge and moose-deer in Pocatello, but now

Here I am in this little house upon these few acres, confined again by dint of the limits of the unrolling roll of paper [i]or[/i] parchment

An old man limping in the misty meadow among the bassetings and junipers, leaning on his staff. He dreams

Of Baton Rouge and the enchanting crape myrtle trees. Lucky the folk who live there!

Well, here is this ground-hog hole. Careful, don't step in. No doubt the ground-hog is still sound asleep

Below. This summer will he sit with his little friend upon this mound at evening and listen

To the white-throats, the thrushes, the cardinals singing in the miniature forest upon the hill?

Copyright World verse Incorporated Nov/Dec 1997

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