hit-and-run poetry

[constance]

I have things to say, and comments to post, which may or may not--depending on your point of view--fall under that first category. But it is late, and I must go to sleep, and so for now I will just post a poem like the sheep that I am.

A Happy Birthday

This evening, I sat by an open window
and read till the light was gone and the book
was no more than a part of the darkness.
I could easily have switched on a lamp,
but I wanted to ride this day down into night,
to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page
with the pale gray ghost of my hand.

--Ted Kooser