The Last Lines

On that odd-shaped, 

wooden deck 

that extends from 

the old hot tub 

surrounded by 

large sand stones 

and overgrown ferns, 

I’ve placed a chair. 

A chair set to recline 

and invite me to 

find some midday sun 

filtering through 

the giant oak limbs 

that reach westward 

seeking the light.

Here, 

under the speckled sun,

I also find 

both 

the first 

and the last lines 

of this poem.