Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
Issue Twenty-five
Spring 2011
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Contemplation with Borrowed Tent
Jeff Gundy

Where did the birds go when the wind
put their little nest down-side up

in the low blueberries? Had they left already?
I want to think they need no single home,

that when they tire they settle anywhere
and then sail off in their dreamboats

to no place I can name. But my friends
all know I’m often wrong, I think everything

will work out just because I don’t want
to fix it myself. I don’t even know the time

but I’m weary, I hope to sleep tonight,
my borrowed bag is waiting

in my borrowed tent and I am not
a bird, I want a home however frail,

however temporary. On the far shore
just above the trees is a lens of open sky

like the entrance to paradise,
like the doorway to the dream I had

last night when I didn’t even think
I was sleeping. And the fresh wood

I had piled on the fire cracked
at last and broke into flame.

About Jeff Gundy

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