poems as hand- and foot-holds on a glass mountain

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

2 Responses to “Enough Is”

  1. Craig Brandis (aka Burl Whitman)

    “the Olympic Mountains having shed
their cloud pajamas, still wearing
their snowy night-caps in spring sunlight “—-lovely

    Reply

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