Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

In a Flash

                    “Age appears to be best in four things, - old wood best to burn,
                    old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read.” Alonso of Aragon


Over the hill you wander,
rising, playing timeless games
with no measurable dimension
and the strangest outlook, to find
your breath unheard, and you rest
your head inside the place your trail led
where only you’ll know you are in slow gear
where your poems sleep with old wine
to dream themselves awake
and you slump over The Idiot
in front of the ashes, like
being filmed in a clip
in the late night show, until
an usher enters to address you.
This will be the moment you’ll understand
you were only on the screen
for a flash when you meant to be shiny
but you were just lusterless, and
all you can do will be to leave
after the usher and your old friends.