Permanent Impermanence

Screw turns full circle with it, spins,
and again into a spiral, yes -
In every smear of glue, mindful-
You will stay. You will stay fixed.
A kind of magic it is, 
Mother working her ways where wood
meets wood; a joint, air 
meets wood; a finish.
Time ebbing into the resins.

It was in his mind, 
as the arm turns, 
and the tricep forces 
the Will of Man
Down, into the bones of metal,
the very nerves of wood, as sinews bend.
Done.

I WAS HERE, 
carved on a tree somewhere, 
so many places - it is in us! See! 
And likewise when I, Me, swing my 
hammock between the trees
like a sail, I want there to be
clear marks of my passing.


Cor, June 2009