Touching

1.

A pine board: the grain a white

shine under dull

gold. And where I

touch it, I leave a mark.

The salts and acids of my

sweat eat in.

But I will leave it

out in the weather, and the

rain and wind will

wash out my stain. Most

of it.

2.

And three days after, a fine

dust, a faint smell of

rosin still lingers on my

fingertips.

Burton Hatlen’s poems have appeared in his book “I Wanted to Tell You” and a CD, “Burt Hatlen Reads His Poetry,” among other places. He is in his fifth decade as a professor of English at the University of Maine.