i am writing like crazy lately. Probably because i have more time on my hands, May Sarton calls the business "thickets of undigested experience". i am trying to take time to untangle.
OH FOR SIMPLER DAYS
tonight i am a constellation:
spewed as from a dream
into remnants that clatter and skid
across the night,
like rhymes stuttered out across the nursery floor
in sweet, wide tantrum…
these lights so ravenous and stretching
“how can all these parts of me be one?”
children below, idling in their lullabies,
count and connect the dots.
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