Then now and then someone says something nice – or sends you a poem based on an improvised exercise that you post here, like last week's.
This is one of those.
And here's the poem, with thanks to Vere Smyth.
Why is it now?
the answer will go away
I think it has always been next to the olive tree.
Sometimes we hear her sobbing in the night.
But if this is it does this mean that this is all there is?
A sense of purpose understood by all but not voiced.
There were others I thought I recognised.
We drove through heavy Munich traffic until we arrived.
I never found out why.
I came upon a small hedgehog.
Beady eyes, whiffling nose.
I will seek him out and see if he knows.
Time is still partly empty.
I’d rather be playing the trumpet.
Much much much
Breathing out I am listening to Dietrich
Quick here now in the sweet chilling gap
Let go into the moment
A free fall into stillness