Rotten Door

Today I tried to fix a wooden door,

where the rot had digested its lower edge,

which rests an inch from the earthen floor,

among the mud and ledge

Several years before i’m sure,

someone had noticed the decay.

Then it might have been easily restored

but now it’s no longer that way

As I picked the rotten knots,

and prodded the fungal veins, 

I was impressed by the organic shots 

with organized colorful stains. 

The hard corners had turned round.

The closed joints had become caves.

Natural processes had made great bounds

at turning straight lines into waves.

As it is with all ambition sought, 

lacking or fully instilled,

an action starts with a fleeting thought

but the results must be dutifully willed  

If perchance nothing is done,

take heart in the elegance of decomposition.

That door will never stay as one,

there is an order to nature’s disposition.