after Geoff Cochrane
Myself in the mirror.
A leathery, stubborn man.
You can hear the genetic stubble.
My adult life has been blind
to the lanes of blood.
Myself at the blackboard.
I look like a cardigan from St. Vincent de Paul’s.
The smell of chalk dust and stale theorems.
Myself in Eden.
A bellbird quavers her song of green splashing ice.
My straw head, as deaf as a spade.
My ornery life has been
a charm of apples.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lindsay Pope paints roofs to get closer to the sky. He writes poems to get closer to the truth.