Wednesday, October 14, 2015

163.365 - the scold

see?  she said, There!  That is your problem
you are unwilling to wait
to let the silence fill
with its own thought
the moon to ripen
to its full round
no, you catch the first glimmer of light
the first tremble of thought
and run off to stuff them in a cranny
where you can watch them glow
watch them quiver like a guitar string
then you run to your paper
dash off your observation
while behind you
in the room you deserted
a sunrise expands
an orchestra tunes
and you, happy with your glimmer in your study
never hear the crash
of the opening chords

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