THE WORK

 

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                                        I realize that in terms of body and spirit,
                                        body grows sick while spirit’s immune,

                                                  – Po Chü-i (“Climbing Mountains in Dream”)

Like a wall, hooks in hand,
I’ve scaled bales of hay stacked
too far off the ground to fall

for nearly fifty winters, boot toes
feeling for a crack and hang
while synapse talks to flesh—

a longer conversation now
for this ascension. I can fly
in my dreams, scramble

like a squirrel up a tree.
Awake: my spirit intact, in touch
with heart and mind’s belief

in these old knees they will escape
after the truck is loaded, cattle
fed—when the work is done.

 

7 responses to “THE WORK

  1. That’s a lot of ‘butt-roasts’ : )

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Vivid. Sounds like most nights at triage.

    Like

  3. Nice one, John. Perhaps I envy you a little less today, as heavier the bales of hay. 😉
    Our youth lives forever in our hearts. I’m of the belief that our mind never gets older than 33

    Liked by 1 person

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