|The Mill, 1964, by Andrew Wyeth|
in a mill in the countryside
thin strands of ice fall on my head
foiling my plans to write on the frosted glass
let nature facilitate more plans
how else would the the mill workers sustain?
a state of helplessness would be their undoing-
an aspect no would like to see
"I do not wish watching you juggling the wheelbarrow-
not while you are a shadow of a long lost ghost.
who sent that anonymous note, I not know"