EMPTY VESSELS
By the time I fill up to the brim,
I‘d have coughed up sediments
Of crushed stones, jagged pebbles
And the craw-sticking bone chips...
That remain from downstream,
Sieving for the one golden nugget
That was never there. I thirst still.
But the summers of our pine city
Refuge have come and gone, too,
With our windy spaces, now left
As frozen wind tunnels when you
Abandoned the cone-strewn trails
For your will-o’-the-wisp: a full
Bowl of nectar laced with laughter.
---Albert B. Casuga
By the time I fill up to the brim,
I‘d have coughed up sediments
Of crushed stones, jagged pebbles
And the craw-sticking bone chips...
That remain from downstream,
Sieving for the one golden nugget
That was never there. I thirst still.
But the summers of our pine city
Refuge have come and gone, too,
With our windy spaces, now left
As frozen wind tunnels when you
Abandoned the cone-strewn trails
For your will-o’-the-wisp: a full
Bowl of nectar laced with laughter.
---Albert B. Casuga
No comments:
Post a Comment