As a woodlouse
Trundles it’s fluid way
Across the lit brick
Of the bright morning,
~
Carrying its slanting
Shadow beside itself,
Thoughts and feelings
Traverse, cloudlike.
~
Six days into
A week long retreat,
At last she settles,
Frantic activity abates.
~
Attic studio clean
And clear, with skylight
Rectangles brightening
Scrubbed pine boards.
~
Painting rags drying,
Strung along a makeshift
Washing line, shifting
In wafts of rising currents.
~
Renewed by respite,
Replete with untimetabled
Repasts , curry for breakfasts,
And too much strong coffee.
~
Tomorrow she’ll be
Returning to a rhythm
Of normal clocks
And starts and stops.
~
For now, she sits
With six B pencil
As the last day
Passes gently by
~
And swifts scream above.
~~~
Gorgeous poem.