Three Poems

At a corner
of the field,

a heap of rocks,
God's accidents

and his erratics.

**

Rock always
speaks for itself
 
and it never
has to say much.

**

The high road
goes east;

the low
goes west.

Between,
the rock—

knowing
our folly—

goes nowhere.

—Tom Montag, Fairwater, WI

 

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