All day inside
Backsliding, often one must do oneself kindness
When I’m rhyming
My consciousness creeps kite high
Scraping my eye with a paper’s edge
To attain the folded vision of legend
Naming the bird before it is fledged
Taming the wind before the arrow is fletched
Seeing the empty spaces before she has fled
A garden not ten wide holds my attention as I pace
Staring off into lean space
Months to stew, to ponder willed disgrace
Like Napoleon wasting away on St. Helena, eating arsenic cakes.
Alchemisland 
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