In Writing

Going through my phone, I sometimes find pieces of things I’ve written in my notes in waiting rooms or some such. I like posting them here, because when I’m looking for something I’ve written, this is where I’m most likely to find it in some semblance of order. So thank you for indulging my babble:

When the days grow long
And my voice grows faint
And my hair is shorn
And my smile is paint

There lay me down to rest
Hear no more complaint
I have turned my back
On my patron saint.

— and another: —-

This your way, you say,
In a language that is familiar but which I don’t understand
With a kindness I can see
But which is kept behind glass.

And in the summer song you walk beside me,
Precise and never grass-stained, never off the path
With no wolf call stirring a wild thing within you
Appalled at the wild thing in me.

I don’t know where I was before,
Or where I will be after
In this inky dark of time
But I cling with fierce talons to here and now.

I don’t know another way
To drink it all in
For this brief,
brief chance.

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