The Poet
He accumulates oddments and curios,
contrivances with strange gears,
attachments that bolt unlikely parts together.
Pieces of something he is structuring or
assembling, a mechanism
too intricate to be entirely recalled.
He discovers these devises
on the leeched rim of vision.
Part of his mind
burns with the light of a kerosene lamp.
He does not want to waste much light
on impossible projects,
yet slowly he feels the inconceivable
taking shape.
He imagines stumbling across
the last piece of a construct.
Fingers search for connections.
He realizes that his whole life
has been spent building something
once seen.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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