Passing Years Measured

Entering the great room

cool water condensed

there on rock walls

in early morning coolness

and stepping on

mirror like stone floors

polished by travelers

their shoes the wind

on fine sand settled

everywhere inside

incidentally finished over

two thousand times

it disappeared reappeared

from shifting time of sands

and so this is how

the passing years

are measured

and the desire to turn back

to the ceaseless life of the desert

is deep as the marrow of one’s bones

such a strange place indeed

and so turning

after arriving through

a heavy wrought iron hinged

and wooden charcoal scarred door

on one side yet still solid

through and through

to the other

the grain of that chestnut tree

tells its own story

of growing old

in the middle of a clustered library

of books with leather wing backed chair

a hand younger than

the Meerschaum pipe it is holding

gentle warmth of the bowl

drawing smoke through

a fine Algerian briar stem

with heavy cherry fragrance

hung there in his room.