Kitchen Table, Eleven AM

I've had time to think. It's done no good.
The winter morning's piercing sunlight
Shows the leafless trees, the frozen fields
So clearly. All is as it's been, familiar,
In my home, yet I'm not certain where
I am. I'm here, almost, but part of me,
The piece she kept when I was leaving,
Calls the rest to come to her, to be again
Complete, assured within her arms.
The rest should go, but it must rest.
The sun should pass more quickly, and
The home, now only mine, should be
The both of ours. In time, it will be,
I have wished. So far, that's done
No good.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 12 times
Written on 2011-12-16 at 14:41

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