Diptych after Shelley
His Small Attempt
Here stand two vast and trunkless legs of snow—
well, definitely not vast, but trunkless
nonetheless. And they’re not destined for slow
decay, because a warming trend’s no less
an enemy than gale-force winds that blow
up sandstorms in the desert. Not a king
this severed statue, nor any humble
ordinary man; it’s merely a thing
erected for someone’s pure diversion
from a wearing, wearying, rough-and-tumble
world, a sought-for respite from immersion
in the daily grind where no one’s exempt—
after the blizzard, one person’s version
how to keep on coping, his small attempt.
▒ ▒
Something Missing
Two vast and trunkless legs of snow, two feet
dumped by the storm and two feet, ankles, calves
sculpted by someone at curbside, complete
with toes and nails, sign that even the “haves”
find something missing in themselves, torso,
head, neck, arms, hands, thighs and knees gone, leaving
the indecisive feet behind, or so
it seems, the rest of the body heaving
from its anchor, engaging the traffic
of the bustling world, unafraid to land
where it may, unwilling to remain stuck
in place staring across the desert sand
dreaming of distant lands, exotic things,
wishing it had been born a king of kings.
From the Forest Comes the Call
How Little Time, How Long: Diptych