Word for Word

Halfway into the book
of you—light reading
light down a well—I was
tracking a hoodlum
for the hilarious
hell of it.

Then to rise
and try to think an
authentic anything.
To grasp what's bound
by the bow of quaint
parenthesis.

This time-out's
been duly noted. As has
the loud log shift
that signals the next
restoking of the fire.

Copyright © 2008 Nance Van Winckel All rights reserved
from Floating Bridge Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission