Lines

Lines

---- Big Frank Dickinson

.

Lines around the world: the tropic of capricorn

The tropic of cancer; lines in the corners

Of your eyes; canary's feet, yes, not crow's

Because it is the canary that sounds the alarm

To tell you that it is hightime to leave the mine,

Give up the digging and get the hell out of there,

And go, where? Outside where grass grows up straight

In straight parallel lines, green flags of our disposition,

Striking out against the graying lines of a fallen tree

With its horizontal cracks expanding with the years,

Oblivious that it's on it's knees, tender without flight,

Embracing the growing half-met fight, yet hard

In its solid place as right; note the scrawl made

Across the gain; who came here and scratched

Those two bold upright lines on this withered log?

Was it the beginning of a game, a mark of time,

Or perhaps a note, a slowly fading memento

Of where two were - once.

.

[Photo by Big Frank Dickinson: Mt. Spokane]