The Poem That Sits In My Notebook
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Max Reif
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I wrote it yesterday,
felt it stop the press of Time
till satisfaction,
sweet like after making love,
turned my every cell to honey
and when I could get up
I walked slowly,
weighing only a pound or so,
back to my car
under a weightless, almost colorless sky
that smiled without a mouth.
It sits in my notebook now,
I'll get it out and post it soon,
but I'm procrastinating,
it can't be as good as it felt yesterday,
and if it is, how can I ever write anything again,
and what will I do from now on?
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