My mind always returns to this time....coming in at a different trajectory and changing the mental landscape...landing in the same but different moment seen from another angle.


AS THIS MOMENT THOU ART


the wood shavings
curl & cling
to my father's voice


as he sings
to the wood
releasing its scent


wave upon wave
of pine
crashing upon


this shore of summer
its morning long ago
forgotten


this wood will shape shift
into a chair leg
dovetailing into


the song he sings
as the wood listens
to every syllable



as if his singing
coaxed into being
chair leg...window frame



stool or saddle.
"Oh believe me if all those
endearing young charms..."



and the wood swoons
to his planning
'''...that I gaze at so


fondly today."
Moore's melodies and pine
reaches back in time



to grasp
the moment
lost to my mind



but now
returning
to its rightful place



as wood
becomes chair leg
to my father's singing