forsooth

we know of absence
how imagination works
on our fickle hearts

of contemptible
dangers from knowing too well
the ever-present

of enticements felt
from across the running brook
found in fresh pasture

of the rolling stone
unable to gather moss
on how many roads

of the empty shelf
bar the yet unread volume
that can’t read itself

of uneven paths
where getting lost is better
than reverting to dust

~

CLP 02/08/2024