Nostalgia of Old Things
Old things like a pattern; blue
willow on china's bone, Celtic knot,
rune
on moss-faced stone,
cross in the weave,
thunderbird in the beads.
Old things want
to fit a picture,
outrun the mirror, last forever
linger
in an eye's reflection, the
part that made it real.
Old things work
to make a picture, liver-spot
hands around the needle,
brush, pen, bead, hook,
the cursive book
of counted dreams.
Old things like a pattern
dog in his bed,
crow on the fence rail,
solsticing sun and feckless moon
flickering
timeless;
not the bed empty,
night rioting,
tea set shattered, not
the bloodsign on the door
where chaos has knocked
as the end.
~February 2019
Images via internet, no copyright infringement intended