“I can write no more. I have seen things that make my writings like straw.”
—St. Thomas Aquinas, quoted in 1273, who authored twenty volumes and Summa Theologica, 3,020 pages, unfinished.
Early morning. Gardenia fragrance rises
the way steam drifts around pond lilies
and billows through the bedroom window,
waking sleepy eyes and misting cheeks.
Through the shades, light blazes bars on the wall
and we reach to grip each golden rung—climbing—where?
Poems are words made of straw,
Feed to chew over and over, cud for the soul
while dreams of alfalfa and clover fields
bloom in green seas
Always beyond our straw.