7863. THE FRAGMENTS OF A DULCIMER

THE FRAGMENTS 

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Four issues, on the table here too, of outdated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but what does an outdated calendar become?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.