Wooden Moments Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers Passed o’er thy head. —Henry Vaughan I hook the banging shutter in its place And stumble on from room to room, closing The rain-pressed windows. Umbrellas below Seem to confer, then float their separate ways. The swirling knots on the plank ceiling are Galaxies in a varnished universe. The groaning floorboards call me back to earth, Expressing long-buried embarrassments. The lacy cloth conceals the sins of gin Glass rings marring the polished wavy grain. Those hidden timber wings, the leaves, wait humbly Like…