The Old Wood

To be alone must a great thing make
The only one alive
On an empty ship
Staring into the grains of wood
On the hull
It slouches one way, heeling with the ship
Leaning over, sides creak
Getting a side view of the grains
Make a statue with its grace
Chisel out a face for yourself
Live amongst the old wood
Read its history
Count the rings in the knots
Think about the faded men’s faces
As they died
Think about the old wood
And the people it left behind.