Sometimes it just stuns you
like an arrow flung from some angel’s wing.
Sometimes it hastily scribbles
a list in the air: black coffee,
thick new books,
your pillow’s cool underside,
the quirky family you married into.
It is content with so little really;
even the ink of your pen along
the watery lines of your dimestore notebook
could be a swiftly moving prayer.
Posted by kind permission of the poet.
In gratitude to K & G Stop moving. Stand in one place – this place….
I wanted to feel stillness so I went for a walk, watched the cobblestones pass…
Once I would say “table,” and mean “table.” Once, I would say “broccoli” and mean…
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