One needs wonder whether sanguinely dressed
anxiety’s product of stress you haven’t cottoned
onto yet, you know those subtle hints that lurk in
pockets of shade like clandestine exhalations of
fresh wind; made acquaintance - sort of - meant
to make note, didn’t, left without evident tension
beyond baited breath; now a question of who &
what’s meant by this enigmatic vagary blinks
& while you’re occupied about it thinking time’s
inexorable passage glides; suddenly it’s Xmas -
what, already! Again’s th’ right reply; one whole
year’s been precipitate by an uplinking of those
vague memories to precincts of Heaven’s gates -
so we can say we’ve found reason & meaning
© 21 December 2015, I. D. Carswell
No comments:
Post a Comment