I’m distracted by a book on the shelf
I read twenty years ago, round about.
I tell myself, “No!”— as if I’m a dog
being trained to the leash. What can I say?
I have no discipline, no set system
to help disaggregate my library.
I follow the lead of my obsessions,
finding patterns in the wind driven sands.
Much of my time is spent in delusion,
the remainder lost in the day to day.
If I could only find that one passage
that one line in that poem I read once—
What with so many paths to wander down,
I’m stunned I make any progress at all.
(July 29, 2024)
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