Journal

1
When the sun comes through the study window
         I cannot read the screen
 and sit remembering
         the lyric daze
is for the young at 4am
         with rain in the white lilac.

2
Perhaps I was always waiting for the feverish
       days to be over, to come through into calm,
though being old is not without event:
     it has its own suspense and intensity,
 almost its own weather. And winter frightens me:
 wet slippery leaves underfoot, and early darkness
        on unfamiliar streets.
When the wind gets up, as it did last night,
         I could wish to be a stone or two heavier,
...