February 2024
The Lone Desk Drawer

A poem on a roadside desk drawer

Open. Set apart. Empty,
But for the sunlight on the grain,
But for the memory, wild as rain,
But for the morning air in you,
Soaked as much in hope as dew.

Resting in the roadside ditch. Lonely,
But for the ants beneath the wood,
But for blackbirds who understood,
But for the caterpillar in the mist
Soon to be bound in chrysalis.

Holding nothing, all things held.
Beholding all while still beheld.

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