somehow the night
has slipped away
without leaving the
words it promised
and I have spent
far too long
staring at a
white page in
a dark room
as though the
sheer silence of
sitting would shape
the darkness into
sentences and help
me keep my
promises for Lent
I have deleted
far more than
I have saved
but that’s true
most any day
I must sleep
Peace,
Milton
Haven’t commented for a while but this is so beautiful I must. Low key and full of imagery at the same time. I love the ending, especially, for some reason, “but that’s true most any day”
i like this flow and understanding the sitting and staring at white with tired eyes.