[I have tried]

I have tried

          (as I trace my hand along the wood-grain

          which falls from the mantelpiece in rivulets)

I have tried

          (as I peer at you sideways

          drawing my thoughts along your wooden wave-shapes

          dipping into knot warps and sanded-down blemishes)

To imagine

          (your contours like sand-dunes

          against the beige of my fingertips

          against the straight planes of your edges)

          To imagine you as you once were:

those undulating ring-lines breathing

age into you

and sighing into the ground;

But now

                  (varnished, sanded, rooted into cold

                  carpet)

          there is simply nothing to connect you to your former self but the concentric rings that signify your age—

          Meanwhile, the wind whistles in the chimney.