I'd trace the grain across the door's two planks
and see the swirls link up,
and often think
the door had reunited
a single piece of wood.

Now the boards have shrunk,
split and warped, and the door's difficult
to open and shut.

If I made one
its grain wouldn't matter much,
but its two boards
would have to be seasoned.

Tristan Moss

If you have any comments on this poem, Tristan Moss would be pleased to hear from you.