There is no word I know,
No analogy that will show
Or capture or condense
That peculiar sense
I feel when I switch on the day
And I remember to replay
The dregs of memoranda,
The unfinished agenda
Of pots to scrape and plates that must
Be rinsed and washed and saved from dust.
It is a nameless mood
Of word-lorn solitude.
No one can tell me how
To switch off the ever-present Now
And aspire to stitch
Unwritten phrases, which
Enable me to say
What I feel this very day.
– – – – – – –
25 October,2014
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