for W. G. Sebald
I awake
eat, read, write, and sleep
the Mondays of present
follow the rhythm
of the Sundays of past
walled-in room
a clutter of books
a coffee-stained desk
stacks of returned mail
a mind unrested
the clock ticked
the sun rose and set
but in the shadows
Time does not pass
though the clock ticks
on any Monday or Sunday
I’m on the lam
crossing continents
sailing the Pacific
beyond Time’s grasp
drifting in a dream
turned into a bird
flying over the Pacific
I open my eyes
upon darkness again
pondering
who is this
thief drifting
in and out of windows
slain by the clock
July/August 2010 issue of Sketchbook
Cool Announcement: 2025 Songbirds Online WAKA Anthology
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My Dear Friends:
NeverEnding Story contributor, an'ya, published the 2025 Songbirds Online
WAKA Anthology as a digital flip book . The mission at Songbirds...