Where be the will to pick up
the quill
to link up on a page the ink?

But don’t we all dwell in the well of

if seers and sages throughout the ages
have garnered their strength to write,
some at length,
can’t I?

The day recoils and its smoke drifts away
into the evening air.
after the shadows reverse their direction
what’s left?

© 2020, John Smallshaw.