Oh dear. It has been quite a long week. I cannot pretend I'm not relieved it is over. And, to be honest, I was not feeling in a particularly poetic mood today. More: grumbling. Unwilling. Reluctant to hand my soul over the muses.
But is there not a certain beauty in sitting in a chair and taking the time to spin out whatever comes to one's fingers? I have tried to do that today, despite my mind's rumbling lethargy. And I am surprised, I think, at the softness of the result. This peculiar lightness.
I hope that you enjoy it, my loves. Perhaps it is a foreshadowing to the weekend coming—that things will not be so bad after all, that some light lurks ahead.
In any case, it is Friday, no? And that in itself is something to celebrate.
Enjoy this piece, my doves. I’ll see you soon. xx
and here is the world,
all these lovely echoing things.
the oceans in your bloodstream, the tangled
roots in your veins, the impossible surface of
your rose garden skin. I want to memorise
it all, kiss the sunlight from your laughter
until all you know is the stars left behind.
darling, you’re an epiphany of wildflowers
and maybe I’ve always built my home
into silken snowflakes,
but love does not read the fine print and
spring does not know the words do not disturb –
only the morning, the flowers, the
beautiful waking-up world.