Night Poem, August 1, 2016



A day of forgotten passwords and usernames

Empty screens and open hours

The buzz of news and commentary quieted

No messages, no “you’ve got mail”

The whirl stops

Then some old kind of strength returns

Like sobriety

And morning feels like morning

The mind orients to the day

To the tasks ahead and the people to meet

Like a compass needle

Rocking on its axis, then locking true north

Oh, there is the old power

The clarity

The restfulness

Like youth renewed

This must be how the saints feel

After prayer.


How could I have left this behind?

What is worth such a loss?

What had I forgotten?


Copyright 2016

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