Composition
If I could tell
the story of my life
it would be the branch
drawing its tree
on the hard wet sand.
It would be the man stopping
to erase the tide
from his mind.
It would be the waves
sealing his shadow
with all the changes
only the clouds could bring.
And if someone else could tell
the story of my life
it would be the poem
I never wrote
from a book of poems
I never opened
whose page was missing
once all the leaves had gathered
on the porch to listen.
It would be the man stopping
to adjust his posture
on the abandoned road.