Peter Chapman Poetry

venetian blinds

storm
sun
storm
sun
storm
sun

what do you call
a screen that sections
the landscape into slatted
little portraits of the day's progress?

pushing his cart, the old
earthpicker stoops to examine
an artifact of no importance

i admit him in layers
of meaning onto my floor
unaware of my power to dis-
remember or of his
to claim everything

open, close

storm