Salt He Said... Salt Poem by Stephen Bennett The Playjurist

The end product of what God makes
is what is found in any thinking mind,
whenever the whole thing stops,
Not the Mount Rainier ghost out there
beyond mist filled miles...

not Niagara's falls roar beside
a pair of sun warmed closed eyes nor
the Atlantic Sea so close one
never sees, just up to Main Street then

four blocks right. These random
(I could have chose any) three
or anything else there may be
and all the rest joined in a memory

with all the many notes, thoughts
and ideas in notebooks lost
in memory still the anticipation
begins what we're here for
and is at the end of the line,
if it ever really comes.