The New England Epic

The New England Epic

The postcard took a month to get here (Maine)

From Peru.

After reading it carefully I decided that was something

I would never do;

Go to

Peru.

I...

Do not have the intellectual curiosity I’m supposed to

Suppose

I need or want

To go out past my woodpiles

Anymore.

Or is it the old stonewalls?

These... historic structures

Mingle with the fallen leaves,

Cracked branches and the

View from there of the pond.

A duck quacking.

The cloud covers the sun

Moving air animates the dry leaves.

The

Moment I step inside the

Hot fireplace fire’s heat is

Making a whole home

Warm and toasty forbidding

The notion that ‘two more weeks

In the jungle’ after

‘Five weeks in the mountains’

So I take my boots off

Put another log on

And wander in the very lost

I am here;

Living here

With the ‘very simplest’ that I suppose I

Could find anywhere;

Even in Peru

But would never go there.

I just wanted my spirit self

To get up off it’s ass and

Have to ask around if anyone is

Foolish enough to disturb (destroy?)

A perfectly good sense of the

Whole God damn universe by

Going to Peru.

It’s not gonna happen.

Not with the fresh bite of ice cold air,

The rake of that wind ripping my

Ribcage with...

No... the scarf stops it.  Yes:

There on my chest... the scarf stops it.

That is not what happens in Peru.

No and just as countless as the dead leaves

Blowing by my eyes to show me that it

Is impossible to not be... too... blown;

As a leaf

Living here with the very simplest.