The Old Wood

To be alone must a great thing make

The only one alive

On an empty ship

Staring into the grains of wood

On the hull

It slouches one way, heeling with the ship

Leaning over, sides creak

Getting a side view of the grains

Make a statue with its grace

Chisel out a face for yourself

Live amongst the old wood

Read its history

Count the rings in the knots

Think about the faded men’s faces

As they died

Think about the old wood

And the people it left behind.

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