Tonight, I start another poem
that will not be finished.
Yes, there will be something—
a knock on the door, a teakettle whistle—
it will catch my attention
and I will put down the pencil,
rough lines left hanging,
words making only half sense.
Then the phone will ring,
or I’ll decide to take a shower.
These thin sheets of paper
will flutter softly, touched by sunset
and a breeze from the open window.
Honey colored shadows
will creep across the floor,
the deepness of night swallowing
table, desk, and chair.
Tomorrow I might find this half-poem
sitting here alone, and think it ugly.
Or I will touch it and it will stir, alive again,
breath whispering words I haven’t yet thought,
scolding for my negligence,
forgiving, with a kiss.
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I sure can relate to the unfinished poem……..but it is my unfinished song, project, letter……and I am glad you finished this poem.
Also, what a lot of work you put into this blogsite……I am
once again impressed. Gives me, who rarely sees you, a glimpse into your life and times. Thanks.
MWLF