Saturday, November 28, 2020

each moment a mystery box

 the chalkboard of the past


the land is much like a chalkboard

where the next story erases the story before,

and then it, too, is erased,


I like to attempt the read the smudges from before,

the depression in the land of an old road,

bits of glass and rock and metal

from which flashes of glimpse tantalize me,


I love to watch otters, wolves, elk, bear, herons

live their stories before me,

fragments of movies with no set show times,

and I just have to hope to be there for the screening,


I am intrigued by the paths that somehow led to now

and by the paths before us

with the different futures they might allow,


every moment is a mystery box

that I want to open and hold.



by Henry H. Walker
November 26, ‘20

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