Day 391: Inlay
∴
i would not have heard it then,
that life outlives love
and love inlays too lightly
on the mantles that we carve.
we modern men,
who carve to make ourselves known,
knowing all the while
that the cleaving, cutting comes to nothing
but the whittling of wood.
and rare is the relic
that has time’s bruise
withstood.
what if we had whittled
where the want of our souls stayed
and worked upon the songs
our hearts wished they would have played?
i cannot recoup the time.
i cannot carve so straight a line
that would convince me –
satisfactorily –
to keep the chisel to my breast
for in this work,
there is no rest.
∴
