Saturday, May 4, 2013


The Searchers

We didn't ask for any help

where we worked in the woods

along the river and we worked

steadily for weeks on end, no

one ever came by to visit or to

lend a hand, except for a stranger

who said he was a rock hound, he

hunted for precious rocks, and he

was curious to investigate our river

land where we worked, even showed

us special containers where his findings

shimmered, and since we were working

on the damage caused by a flood we in-

visited him down with us and continued our

woodcutting huge driftwood trees, as he

drifted off, young with shaved head bent

searching and dreaming as miners do


Beautiful Days
Longhouse 2013

photo © bob arnold


Conrad DiDiodato said...


as I see it, this "dreaming as miners do" can be epical or tragically obsessive. I'm not sure which. That the poem can speak both (or perhaps an even more elusive third)is its strength.

Bob Arnold / Longhouse said...

Thanks for your eye to things, Conrad.

In the meantime, I'm leave mining to miners.

all's well, Bob