February 1985


late at night

I lie on the floor

and struggle with sleep

not succeeding

and turning out

I write a poem

that also fails

I ball it up

as I have been

and toss it to the cat

who rolls it about

in careless play

and has a bit of fun


it came to some good

after all



Not sleeping; on the floor of the

organ room, way too late at night.


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Each New Day A Miracle
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