How I long to write you in all of your shifting
but its interminable nuance is impossible to pin down
and these glasses like tunnel vision are cramping my mind!
I could take off my glasses, I suppose,
he stopped and threw them off, and tried to remember when and how he got glasses.
A cup of tea brought its usual…tea-ness, which always helped.
And he had kept writing while sipping, he noticed,
But maybe you are just not meant to be written,
He wondered what language she should be spoken in.
And what about Jesus cooking breakfast on the shore after everything he had been through? If anyone’s humility came close…
He stopped for a moment and wondered if he was overdoing it. But he wasn’t sure because of the compartments in his mind.
But then he thought it would make more sense to figure out who he was writing about.
It seemed he had grabbed onto the drifting? So, naturally, he called her Thursday.
One thing he noticed, he had stopped rhyming before Friday.