Finding Something in the Middle of an Intersection
I put it in reverse
Leave the engine running
Door open to the street
I thought it had a face
Was carved in wood
And sure enough
Hand wrought
Its face is charred
Black as a secret
Dropped by mistake?
From a bad accident?
Tossed for a reason?
From Tahiti, Bora Bora
Tourist trinket or folk art
I wonder, gripping it
Like a lucky find
What we get when
We have lived well
But I wonder
If that is true
What the thing means
Hands full of charge
And charcoal
Face full of apparition
Why in the intersection
Of my crossing
Staring up at me?
Compelled to bury it
At some distance
And just forget
Throw it down
A pit at some depth
None too deep
But I hold onto it
Once in a while grasp
It in the bath
Keep the spirits tilting
Torrid and piquant
To wonder, to incant
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