Wednesday, January 07, 2009

dccclvi

Rituals are soothing.
                 —Lewis Warsh

A doe and two fawns
have slipped back into the wood.
I got up this morning,
read a few pages,
climbed down the loft....

It has been about an hour
and ten minutes since I awoke.
It’s a cool morning.   Birdsong
I am unfamiliar with is
playing out my window.

Writing from the memory
of hunger.   John Tranter’s
The Floor of Heaven on my
table.   I have to admit I
found the whole thing
worthwhile.

Dunno his name, though.
Tall, thin, with a tattoo
around his wrist,
in a relationship (open)
with a Swiss guy who
just bought property in
Thailand,

the setting for the novel
I’m reading.   One per year.