Soon I will need to step out of my garden
onto some other stage for this poetic blog;
it will have been one year and the reveal, to be
a reveal, needs to show that I do more than
tinker with my computer, potter around
my patch of earth. These are the bones of my days,
regular shape on which to hang the poet,
the artist, the creative identity
without which I cease to be me, cease to be
cohesive; fragment into marking time. Time
without purpose, filled by consumption; dreaming
of chocolate, cherry twig tea, gently steamed
egg, toasted sunflower seeds, ginger baked salmon,
peanut-pineapple curry. Lunch flavoured with
sea breezes, dinner savoured with warm moonlight,
eating out, eating in, the food of life might
be enough?