Sometimes, I can’t quite find a poem
to get me through the day.
I crouch down behind the kitchen wall,
trying hard not to catch my own eye
in any reflective surface.
Where, oh where, are those threads of prayer
when the chips are down?
Sometimes, the only thing to do
is put my head down
and ride it out –
the taste of life going on, like a ripe fruit
with just that hint of death,
mixing up the sour and the sweet
in my tired mouth.
Sometimes, the only possibility
is to swallow it down and breathe out,
and in again.
Remember – new Leonard songs are coming,
you have a circle to cook for
and a small dog
is waiting to be born.