For Rock Filbert

FOR ROCK FILBERT
June 11, 2006


You must feel like a
puppet, all hardwood
feet and fingers fastened
with nails, operated
by strings,
unable to turn or
bend unaided.

You must feel as though
you’ve taken your last
wormwood breath months
ago and are seated
on the edge of the
stage waiting like an
obedient setter
to wag his tail again.

You must feel one
with the sparkling
universe as it goes
on, unthinking, with its
mundane tasks
second-by-second
in a dull world
where there is nothing
for it but Time
while I feel like a
puppeteer waiting
to pull the strings.

But Time is running out
and I’m getting old.