#1446 - 65

 

1446

4.350

16.xii.23

65

not quite under erasure

 

 

sliver of moon

my wrecked garden, so far

 

rain too light to call

 

midst of me

woods brighter

delving

 

I find the place from which they escaped

or would have

all at peace now

 

I know very little of course

 

no one to write home about

 

because beyond a door and knock

 

when they speak in my dreams

it’s their language

I have lost

 

head full of

heart full of

self

how else?

 

once an official retirement age

now outlived

 

stand back from oneself on a certain day

throw this dog a birthday bone

 

65

full head of

hair

of steam

 

of

still alive

less and less hive minded

 

so many survived

(and if you’re reading)

 

 a double Jesus just about

 

unlikely they’ll conscript me now

 

my breeze

and no one else’s

 

it is a remarkable thing

 

make our own fun from here

 

hide in a book until done