The first day of the rest on my life

You know… I missed many things, during my time away. Strange how one of them was my 1962 Smith Corona typewriter…. a most beautiful thing. I could not sleep last night… So I wrote this poem early this morning. It was so pleasurable… for me… to create something organic… again.

What has become of me?
The star that the season
passes by.

Under this silent bell,
should the poets sadness
be given to me?

I will take it gladly,
like a blanket in deep

And then, the moments
labour is over.
With a flourish of trumpets.

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