And those we wish we had written.
After 42 days, look for a change in the weather,
Maybe just the light, for a moment,
Or a shuttered day in clouds.
Regardless, someone’s head will turn,
Like catching a whiff of silence
Almost. Another curious pause,
In a rarely checked routine.
On that day, I should be drawn back in:
tempted by the familiar,
Sinking back into the reflection,
Or falling to the side,
Just leave me some thread,
Or mark, to orient,
And resume. I’ll finish this poem,
And the others too.
When the wind turns,
And a quiet spell might linger.