When I can't write
When I can't write
I stroll in woods
by river banks
but can't write about leaves
or gurgling brooks
as I
watch sunlight
cut through
treetops
like a
cold razor blade.
Here I live
outside a town. and
so what names
shall I give
to the people
who forever walk about
not knowing
I exist on the edge
of their town, with
notebook and pen
walking
to their town
where people expect
that rustics
serve cream teas
or sugared buns.
Confusion now gone
as
I see the green light
across the water's edge
but today
I heard
people say that
where I live
is a beautiful place
but wouldn't enjoy
life
there.
Somehow they are
fed up
with life.
But they
all want
to live
forever.
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