10/23/08 Ode to Ode

Ode,
though I have let
my subscription expire,
don't think for a second
that I don't think of you.
Don't think I don't pine,
as your sweet pages
may pine for the pines
they may have once been
the time before they were
lovingly recycled from
the post-consumer waste stream,
or the new-growth pine
from which your water wheel
of sparkling, refreshing and
unfailingly sustainable ideas
may have been rough-hewn.
I have every pulpy piece of you
tucked gently onto my bookshelf,
in a neat stack all facing the same way,
waiting in suspended motion
for the moment
when I can unroll your many scrolls
of wordy volumes
like an inviting bedroll
on the forest floor
(or my living room)
and pour lovingly over
every glistening dewy
drop
of your
responsibly
harvested
sap
(articles).