Open Ended Poem by Laurence Overmire

There is a sense of the incomplete
Always
In his work
As if some unfinished business
Intrudes
Upon the hours best spent in
Contemplation
Yet his hand is always firm
Upon the rudder
His face bowed humbly in the heat
Of the afternoon sun
The glare reflecting off the water
Stings the eye
Blurring the possibility
Of accomplishing
More
The hope of tying together
Ends
Jarred loose
From a life that never
Resolves.

~ Laurence Overmire