Two Poems

Schoolhouse

What were you seeking when the door
        held by one hinge
Came loose, and toppled to the floor?
        What of the fringe

Of scattered bricks? Yet still it stands,
        near the far edge
Of the woods. The pump's iron bands
        grip the stone ledge.

Where the playground was, not a trace
        of footsteps now.
Only the drifts of Queen Anne's lace
        curtsy and bow.

 

Slug

Everything else you see is up
        and far beyond
Your progress here. A tiny cup
        of jelly on

A stepping stone, a trailing path
        of silver lines—
What lies above your humble graph?
        The ribbons shine

But you have nothing to explain,
        nor to pursue,
Acknowledging no higher aim
        than drops of dew.