I write for longer projects.
The crow in the cage cawcackles.
The time hits twelve; the time turns past.
That’s now (then) & here (there), though.
I write another poem for to reassure someone (Me?) that nothing will hinder.
Ends; begins. Writ; collected.
I see that neither muse nor pen is spent.
Ten days beyond a city sunrise.
The footfall flux meanders.
Whate’er shall I write next?
Your essence, earnestly put forth unto impermanence to weather storms of whetherwhims.
No rhymes for reading; hearing!
In nature’s nightless, new-born form I met the mossy fern.