I walked and saw the orange sun set
and I wanted to write it’s colour to the page
that burnt flame dying low toward
another world
I walked in the graying day
toward twilight’s birth
and felt the subtle damp
begin to lift
a mossy thickness wrapped round
my head
these feelings were meant
for ink and old wood pulp
I walked past moving stream
low down still fast but slowing
anticipating summer’s heat
while in the grassy banks
preternatural shadows
flowed beneath the blades
waiting for the night
waiting for the night
all this I wanted to express
in letters, meter and rhythm
but
the words would not come
and now these things
resign thmeselves to pensive
memory – perhaps to be
forgotten.
perhaps not…
Harnessing Chaos 