There is less time to write now.
I leave the office at 5 and at the gym
run for an hour on the treadmill.
I drive to your house with flowers,
kiss you. Try to kiss you again,
leave, and I don’t call because
I make dinner for myself, wash,
set the alarm, and I look for
the matches to light the candles,
so that I can sleep and which
I will set on my desk where
I spent all those nights writing.
I tell myself, nothing is wasted.
– ph 11/2/16 Morriston, ON
