Like a Man Gone Mad: Poems in a New Century

Aesop Revisited

12 Aesop Revisited Why is it I favor snow and rain when all they do is slow things down? Is slowness itself the reason why since only then can poems be written, needles threaded and kisses given as they should be— free of calculation and with eyes lidded? Slowed down or stopped completely to observe a waterfall, I learn to share the happy recklessness of water on the run. I’m prompted then to say how men of thought look noblest when they read or vote or pray or listen to Sibelius alone . . . The hare arrives fatigued with nothing showing for his speed except the vanity of victory. The tortoise stops en route to view the scenery, forgets how far he’s come or has to go and then resumes the rivalry like some unlikely hero barely winded from the trek and yet to break a sweat. ...