A Rocking Horse

A rocking horse

lightly sawdusted

stained red

and smelling of cedar,

I study the edge of a line

and determine the next cut

by considering the patterns

and shapes which make up

the work so far,

and by listening

to the resonation

of wood and sap,

a density which

reverberates a throaty bellow,

once sang into.

The wooden horse

generally rocks,

but teeters with a wobble,

and my poem,



only simulating a breath,

and both would be rendered useless

if not for the way they remind me

of my potential

and how “good enough”

will have to do

for now.


All content copyright by Michael Barnes 2020 ©