“…in the timber
a ship of my own” ~ D. Bonta
Wood of dusky smoke,
wood that may have been
a funeral post: remnant
stained a regal black
and whittled— Folded
arms and folded knees,
stoic guardian set above
the counter where we keep
the grain. Every hard
thing has a dented heart;
every stiffened joint
green, once, in the wild.
In response to Via Negativa: Evening walk.
Beautiful.