Storms and earthquakes stretched the trees
Into shattered hands scratching at a sky
Wounded by the dying light
Of a cold October sun. I enter this picture
at dusk
Just like Alice drifting through the mirror,
Dissolving the skin thick glass of perception
With outstretched hands that reach out for
the prize
Of a more interesting world than the one we
live in.
A maze would be far easier to negotiate than
this forest,
I find that every path is blocked by gnarled
trunks of trees
And their ancient interlaced branches.
The pale blue bay remains a hazy mirage,
Slowly darkening as the dusk comes on,
Four minutes earlier each October evening.
I planned that the distant boats should be my
rescuers,
But now they must remain forever out of reach,
Two small sails heading to the far shore
Where the grass, of course, is greener.
I step back from the picture and rub my eyes.
Like Alice I have to come to terms with life
Now that the sun has set, and my world shrinks
back to one room
In the narrow shell of a suburban semi detached.
But why can I now see people and their houses
In that painted wood, that I failed to see before?
Perhaps my terms of reference were too shallow.
Perhaps I only saw what I wanted to see.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
1st. - 2nd. October 2021.
Poem No. 10. Hiroshige print illustrating October in my 2021 Calendar.
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