A BIT OF MOULD
It would be nice to have known all the languages that ever are.
To have lived in all the places that ever were.
To have read all the books we ever write.
To have lived with dinosaurs!
To have all the world and wide and time.
To know all the things and everywhere!
To explore the architectural magnificence of my Frigidaire.
And then, of course, there’s this:
In the sea, raw ambergris is waste.
On land, the rarest of perfumes.
Look at these stones, just lying on the road.
But in another land, their traits are prized.
And then there are times,
sick and dizzy and ashamed,
I pause,
and breathe,
and grasp a little of contentment.
Why, “most of the phenomena noted might be observed in Concord,”
and a bit of mould beneath my feet, in some strange way,
can compass everything.
This poem first appeared in the North Dakota Quarterly, Spring-Summer 2022, Vol 89, Nos. 1-2.
It would be nice to have known all the languages that ever are.
To have lived in all the places that ever were.
To have read all the books we ever write.
To have lived with dinosaurs!
To have all the world and wide and time.
To know all the things and everywhere!
To explore the architectural magnificence of my Frigidaire.
And then, of course, there’s this:
In the sea, raw ambergris is waste.
On land, the rarest of perfumes.
Look at these stones, just lying on the road.
But in another land, their traits are prized.
And then there are times,
sick and dizzy and ashamed,
I pause,
and breathe,
and grasp a little of contentment.
Why, “most of the phenomena noted might be observed in Concord,”
and a bit of mould beneath my feet, in some strange way,
can compass everything.
This poem first appeared in the North Dakota Quarterly, Spring-Summer 2022, Vol 89, Nos. 1-2.