All lights are out across the flat except
this touchscreen beaming back into my face
and all is silent as my daughter sleeps,
her little sighs and hums will never cease
to move me as I struggle to find words
to slot my stray thoughts neatly into place.
Perhaps the truest poetry occurs
when each noun makes the last one disappear
and doings are undone by each new verb
til all that’s left to say is “now” and “here”.
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Niall O'Sullivan
Jun 26, 2012 @ 14:51:29
I need to go away and think about this… My Zen teacher would appreciate the last line.