I shall read poetry only in the morning,
writing some of my own thoughts as they pass
my way. Plucking ideas out of the air;
motes back-scattering words in the opalescent window frame.
Poem-ideas always seem to change when seen
from different angles in fading dust-light.
What could be better than a dog, cuppa,
and the sunrise and the still of the house, and
the periodic hum of the refrigerator?
- ▼ April (7)
- ► 2006 (17)