Perhaps it is not meant for me
\nto write a poem today.
\nTo come with no offering, no tribute.
\nThe day, which composes itself
\nso perfectly,
\nso full of light and air and sound.
\nSo full of rainbows, shadows,
\neffortlessly
\nand it is given to me, no charge.
\nNo contrition necessary.<\/p>\n
Whether I cry or shout,
\nor hold my breath,
\nit offers itself.
\nIt does what it does.
\nSo I am in love.
\nI want to give it my heart, my soul.
\nI want my hands on its lips,
\nday that kisses everything.
\nI want it to hear my thoughts,
\nmy rejoicing.<\/p>\n
Day that sings and speaks in cadence,
\nand holds its silence,
\nand never says too much
\nor too little,
\ntoo loud or too soft.<\/p>\n
Day that wants me to hold it,
\nand caress it,
\nand wage war,
\nand climb trees,
\nwaits for me and never leaves.
\nStands silently if I remain silent,
\nand gives me a shadow.<\/p>\n
Day that shows me everything,
\nbut only if I wish.
\nOnly if I need to see,
\nto ache,
\nto run.<\/p>\n
Day that owns me and lets me alone.
\nSo if I cannot write a poem,
\nit is not for lack of love,
\nor words,
\nor desire.
\nPerhaps it\u2019s trying to catch up with beauty,
\nthe sky,
\nshining inside me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Perhaps it is not meant for me to write a poem today. To come with no offering, no tribute. The day, which composes itself so…<\/p>\n