smiling too much it is the thought that counts grounding the ideal we will say things too many behind closed doors (and the sun continues)
Reading the headlines
and watching the sad world through
the dirty window
*firstly posted in 2016, reviewed in 2018 and 2019
They will come back, eventually,
in the order expected
by my disorderly thoughts
or all scattered
on scraps of paper
to avoid me spelling
verbs like tarnish
or names like vertigo
She insists on adding a few minutes to her lifeline, a few days perhaps, of good life, but she has too much to do, too much to say, or too much baggage, or past to prune.
There would be days, ordinary days, filled with daily tasks, performed slowly, a kind of contentment, a certain joy to contemplate one’s life line (broken, but still).