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Text

Text

Today I will write a poem,
and send it to myself on Text.

I will hear the tiny ‘Ding,’
stop and wonder,
‘Who can it be?’

I will stop cooking,
halt in mid step,
or pull the car over,
and read the poem,
the poem I sent to me,
the composer, the poet.

I will send the poem
on the day of the Sun,
in the hour of Hermes,
the Magician, Mercury,
the Poet with wings,
the Healer, the messenger,
the Texter I awake.

Sarah Fuhro

7 January, 2018

                           photo: Bruce Lhuillier

runes tablette BL   .jpg

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