“So Wizened”

“So Wizened”

 

So wizened minutes leading to the exits;

The works of art are ended, conversation grow moot

For those who gave themselves at the ticket booth—

Their latest greatest vendor of the eyes and word. Tired texts

Are cast against the ear and brilliant screen, a feckless

Lexicon begun when all of us were children, but precious roots

Not seen and altogether missing for precocious flukes

And tenderest green shoots that ever rise to  what comes next:

“Now I lay me down to sleep.” Gnarled twists, these flawless stems become

When once the everyday surprise of morning gains in gravitas.

Quotidian change the harbinger of strange and wondrous sap,

At once the greatest fear and only hope to close the gap,

And all conceals just where it was we all began and where the run

Of luck and love and all that life holds dear must land.

Photograph at top by BS Garvin

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