Brian’sPoems

The Fore

This is one of those mornings
when everything has leapt to the fore,
demanding my attention all at once.
There’s little I wouldn’t trade
for another lazy hour in bed,
and the illusion of being at peace.

This poem was writing itself
all of yesterday afternoon
and into the night in my dreams.
I couldn’t copy the words quickly enough,
and so they kept changing,
melting into each other
like wet paint in the rain.

There will be much to distinguish
this day from tomorrow,
and then this week from the next;
until at last a narrative takes shape,
which will no doubt find its way
into a poem.