TAR

Eyes wandering, pondering

Wondering which one will suffice.

Trying to start a project, but at what price?

Never gone down this road before

Making a selection, seeming unsure.

Ash, oak or maple,

They’re only a staple.

He wants Mahogany.

This reddish-brown timber comes from a tropical tree.

Out of his league, he doesn’t agree.

Harvested from the wild,

This project’s not for a child.

West Indian.

He begins again,

To shape and mold...this quality so bold.

Fierce.

Trying not to pierce a finger

On the sharp edges of this masterpiece.

Carving, starving to see this work come to its finish.

Trying not to diminish its value.

This lumber lives.

The breath it gives is reciprocal.

His hands gently shape and caress

The nape of this “Mahogany”.

His prodigy.

This tropical piece has been exposed to the heat, humidity, fluidity

Of jungle life

Using his tools, carving his knife.

Meticulously shaping, his mind escaping,

Thinking about how Mahogany will be free.

This artist’s hands demands that his work stands alone.

Beholding this beauty,

he knows it’s his duty,

To prize this possession.

His obsession.

His craft. Not a draft.

His reality.

Duality.

This woman is his.

Joined by one simple Kiss.

His Mahogany.