Enough Is
an old saw played with a bow
an hour in Sedro-Woolley
three drowned olives, a scone,
and the left hand of God
“O what a rogue and peasant
slave am I…”
(Hamlet act 2 scene 2)
there is no end of stories
and there is no story
history has not vanished
only because we keep making it up
whoever wherever you are tomorrow
for whatever turns up
three bags full? twenty barns?
there are no numbers
the Little Ice Age, Spinoza,
and a plague of moderns
youth once
an old wound not picked at
the Olympic Mountains having shed
their cloud pajamas, still wearing
their snowy night-caps in spring sunlight
The Dog Star 
2 Responses to “Enough Is”
“the Olympic Mountains having shed their cloud pajamas, still wearing their snowy night-caps in spring sunlight “—-lovely
Thanks bro. In our mad consumer culture we need these poems about what enough is.