Drawing with a stylus on the screen
Makes us think of what we might have been
With paper and some charcoal, pen and ink
The sensuousness of touch, the eye that winks
The false self is as real as any truth
Adapting to what’s needed, that’s its proof.
Always having time for someone else.
Never saving up for inner wealth.
Running to the door when someone knocks.
Keeping your own soul inside a box.
Living in our rhythm as does the sea
We guess that is the better way to beat
The frightening separation of the heart
Is just the proper place to make a start.
In the kitchen stirring strawberry jam
Is only one more away to fight the spam.
Cutting up the rhubarb into chunks.
Staring at the horse until it blinks
Snapping off the peas that sprawl in sun
Waiting for reality to come
How my heart sings 