LOCAL VIEW –Window to the Wet–

The beat and drench of the cold April wet
Strands me by my window, frowning distaste.
When young I’d push myself out and forget
All comfort, not for “fears-must-be-faced”,
But with my eyes filled by mad ambition.

With handsaw and hammer and reused, rusty nails
I would change the world, and no lack of sun
Or cold rain could stop me, but bluster quails
After fifty years of seeing I don’t
Change the world, but the world changes me.

The mud remains as muddy; mankind won’t
Change the climate; through my window I see
The same wet twigs holding crystal-ball drops.
The change is the same and the change never stops.

4 thoughts on “LOCAL VIEW –Window to the Wet–

    • Thanks. I never heard of Neruda until “Mike From Montana” sent me some books last fall. It made me wish I spoke Spanish, for I imagine much is lost in the translation, but some of the images were wonderful all the same.

      Some of my poems likely would be improved if I translated them into Chinese, and from Chinese to Swahili, and then back to English.

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