seaboyman ~ poetry

Sometimes, a little always

There are no axes, no chainsaws yet I

Was born in a lumber world; too cut

Off to know the names of the trees that dot

The lake, too lived under the highway's shade

To know if the canopy shrinks come autumn.

I am too tall for the canopy, I

Break the firmament when I stand proper,

Look, a piece of heaven on that child's face,

In the fire within the lamp, mixed throughout

The black soil bearing BT cotton rows

But Janus looks two ways, there is a flipped

Heaven in the white soot coat on nameless

Trees, in those clouds which did not rain before

The farmer's funeral and that is how

I go to sleep; dream a world with name tags.

~Ajay
24/2/19