Alone Looking Somewhere, With White Grapes

 

As the sun rose
My heart beating fast before bed, mysteries left and intentions set, I woke placed in a spot where I will look to where I am going.
This morning I listened, I sang (always fun with an English accent), I continue to listen, will fold towels after I press publish on this.
Don’t need to talk a lot for today, can have a place to think, and others too, but neither be needlessly silent.
There in my poetry drafts folder, I found a forgotten poem being reinvented, discovered it ready this morning for the coming book, and it was added.
Drafts don’t go bad. I leave them in that folder ‘til ripe.
There are poems and more of them, just the amount I want.
And white grapes are good too, today, two handfuls.

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