I have learnt to appreciate tea.
It gives a lift, almost sinful,
between the late afternoon,
and the beginning of the dark.
That moment that is like reading
something difficult, you try to get
through, it wears you down, you
can’t comprehend it, but you’re
aware, you reach further, past
what you’re reading to a moment
of realization, you replace uncertainty
with understanding and carry past your
sense of being stupid to a glade of comfort
that dispels shadow with sunshine,
emanates from within, animates
and rids you of indecision. The art
and act of giving another chance,
granting yourself the relief
of self-forgiveness, to make
the transition from dusk to
darkness bearable, as if
sometimes you think you need
courage to look at the stars.
It’s moments like this, it seems
a prayer is appropriate, “Thank you
tea for your blessing of clarity.”
Paper time
Paper is a Time Machine, but it only goes backward in time.
Don’t ask where it begins, I don’t know where to begin,
but I know when you read you’re transported back in time.
I’m certain of that, but not much else. Is it part of the pencil
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