Jul 14, 2021

I have pennies in a bucket, lots of them.

Goodbye. 

A fog rises from the earth.

A cool, misty blanket.

As gray as a soul.

Archangels wade in the river shallows, like herons.

They seem to be looking for something,

But I don't ask them about it.

I am a small wooden boat, and time is my anchor.

I have pennies in a bucket, lots of them.

From the shore, the sound of the music of Bach

Being played on a cello.

Pablo Casals, in his eighties, was asked why he still practiced.

"I think I am making progress," he said.

I raise the anchor and shove off into the fog.

I think I am making progress, too.

-jobe

-previously in Medusa’s Kitchen


LINKS -

thanks/jobe

1 comment:

  1. A beautiful, mysterious poem that will stay with me. Thanks for this.

    ReplyDelete