It sits There - April 13, 2022

my writing journal

baking in the sun

where I left it

leather more than warm

like a post-race horse

without the sweat

that pours off me

from the distraction

of a needy chore

collecting cutting

fallen palm leaves

after a turbulent night

I sigh at the

scrapes on my arms

the lack of marks

on the pages

the ink-blood

now poised in my hand

waiting

to be spilled