LXV
They'll find this here, a relic of times past,
A last most stubborn fossil that remains,
Curling, uncurling, restless as a cat,
A splinter moving through the beat of veins.
Those things that cannot find the light must wait,
A potent ling'ring itch that can't be reached.
A mystery that moves from place to place,
Yet cannot move at all towards some relief.
After time held in heat and pressurized,
It well might make some precious souvenir,
Even the smallest things can mesmerize
With enough pacing by the hobnailed years.
This tiny knotted thing may yet see day,
When all the rest of me has gone away.
They'll find this here, a relic of times past,
A last most stubborn fossil that remains,
Curling, uncurling, restless as a cat,
A splinter moving through the beat of veins.
Those things that cannot find the light must wait,
A potent ling'ring itch that can't be reached.
A mystery that moves from place to place,
Yet cannot move at all towards some relief.
After time held in heat and pressurized,
It well might make some precious souvenir,
Even the smallest things can mesmerize
With enough pacing by the hobnailed years.
This tiny knotted thing may yet see day,
When all the rest of me has gone away.
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