Sniffing out trails poem series

    1
No cure

Ragged from a wakeful night,
chaos of dreams and drafts
of things you've yet to write,
stiff-necked and -limbed
from studio work, you take
your mind and body panting,
up the hill, down the hill,
past the jetty, into the marshland,
carrying your sandals,
frozen-footed, to accompany
the blank, brass sunrise,
predictably striping the water.

You could pretend, but
truth is, there's beauty outside
only when you're clear inside

- you're missing your beloved,
his so-everything-not-you being –

face it: for that degree of loneliness
there is no cure.

    2
Better

Setting it down –
writing your gripes,
does make the situation,
somehow, better.

    3
Crutch

It's not wine,
nor even work,
it is, simply,
my pen. I even have two.

    4
Sound

One of the reasons
I don't type my poems
and writing
is

I'd miss that breathy,
scratchy sound of
the pen's fountful nose

sniffing out trails
on the paper.

– Silke Heiss, 31st May 2022