OF A DULCIMER
'This calendar says nothing right. It's from
seven years ago and still hanging on this wall.
Four issues, on the table here too, of outdated
'Arizona Highways' magazine. What a place
is this, but this is the way it is.'
And that's exactly how I found this to be,
way back in 1971. A still-life watercolor, of
a now-late afternoon. That was a song, about
the same time that calendar was good. But, then
again, I guess a song remains always a song,
but what does an outdated calendar become?
I had parked by the gully, in an unpaved ditch.
The road all around was just tire tracks, really.
This was going to be my home, so I knew I'd
better get used to it. My own dirt path to nowhere;
a hundred-year old house at the edge of a field, with
a dump beyond it, long ago closed. All sorts of things
from the 1930's past. Lanterns and fenders, and
clocks that had crashed. I once found - even -
the fragments of a dulcimer there.