Wood by Tom Stauder, Glass by Sarah Friskey

AN OLD MAN WITH A BACK YARD

  By David Frankel

It tangles as it grows: it sprouts and shoots,

Unwatered, kicked a distance, kept apart.

He’s relinquished tamed and measured: has some boots

To keep the mud outside, a cup to start

The morning with.  He doesn’t cultivate, 

He just observes as it spreads out; he doesn’t force 

Its spiriti to bend the knee.  It’s late

To learn to leave the weeds alone.  Of course

He can’t say what is wisdom, what fatigue:

By now he is a mash of both, and they

Resemble one another, are in league

To disconnect him.  Sightlines slip; he’ll stay

Alone, above, implanted in his chair.

Some day the overgrowth will reach him there.