Wooden Things
By HOWARD GRIFFIN
ARCHWAYS and passageways,
Diminishing in time,
Door jambs that obtrude the feet,
Rafters of grime.
Diminishing in time,
Door jambs that obtrude the feet,
Rafters of grime.
A cradle-Ark, neatly joined,
Without a wreath,
Set in motion, to and fro,
By initial breath.
Without a wreath,
Set in motion, to and fro,
By initial breath.
We dream our early nights upon
A vaster bed of pine;
But at the end our dreams converge
To a thinner line.
A vaster bed of pine;
But at the end our dreams converge
To a thinner line.
Coffins, cradles, beds of state;
A wooden bow; a wooden dart;
And plain little wooden rings
With initials charred.
A wooden bow; a wooden dart;
And plain little wooden rings
With initials charred.
Thimbles and theater swords,
The sadness of wooden things,
Old saints with wooden lyres
And moonlit, wooden wings.
The sadness of wooden things,
Old saints with wooden lyres
And moonlit, wooden wings.