Much on the to-do list again but it’s all doable and in motion incrementally. I even made a hot lunch. Good for the cold rain.
A poem woke me at 5 a.m. Finished it at the standing desk. (Since studying Spanish my pronouns are toast. Dropped everywhere by default. We don’t need most of them in English.)
In the early blue,
first dawn chirp
Wobbly eventually I went back to sleep. By yellower later light,
maybe first birdsong
By noon’s mix of rain and sun, I return to the poem. Not that above, another long thing.
Light of day can be harsh but it’s not bad. The first 4 lines can continue intact. Perhaps they are not the start. The ending is a bit stuttering. I’m missing some key word. Or something. There’s a hitch in its step. Does it need more living to complete itself, or dreaming? or breathing?
Will it be bound into unblossoming, hogtied, or tear its own leaf to open? So much suspense in gardening.
Look at the metamorphosis: caterpillars, commas & question marks.
Up on the pillar is more sheltered than under a slat-table.
Even still she came in with her head dry and tail soaked.
Tails are used for counterbalance. How are cats so reliably unaware of what’s happening back there? It’s as if their tails are the embodiment of their unconsciousness.