IVER'S CHAIR
I was offered
To sit in this chair
Iver's chair
Where he was at ninety four
And respectfully so I placed
The bones soft muscled down
Eider like, as it felt
I had disappeared into Iver himselfThe rolled ends of the arms
Palm polished
The lines that match in life the veins
That fed this heart so fondly
Of toil in kind, the weather
All seasons
This chair was Iver's mantra
Of the sound of life itself
Still, without going anywhere,
Lighter than the breath
The silence to awaken
Touched into this peaceful dimensionAs always it would be this chair
To rejuvenate way beyond
The threads of time
Way past a conversation
Way into another realm
Where the cows and dogs and sheep
The harvesting
Can all be left behind
To sink so heavenly
As the westerly rain pricks and spits
At the window pane
As never in vain
I rest here in Iver's chair
This place where
All seems so soundless.