“No High Seat” by Brad Hunter

Some folks like the high seats,

Floating with angels and dragons,

Far beyond the trembling troubles

Of ordinary flesh and bone.

Me?

Still just an old gravedigger at heart.

Burying the dead and bringing forth flowers.

I love to be startled by the gems among the

Broken glass and street trash.

To blind dive into the ancient swamp

Where no light shines

And emerge with something nice—

For both of us!

I’ve never been any good at building and repairs—

Especially now, with fading vision and shaky hands.

Deconstruction and demolition seem to be my gig.

Undermining the foundations of cathedrals,

Igniting crystallized conceptualizations,

Until they dissolve

Like snowflakes in a firestorm.