The Normal Grown-Up

Her kettle murmurs Normal tea with normal milk The least I can do.

How I know That souls weigh nothing at all I don’t know. 

I will hold these words And try to loosen my grip On everything else. 

Five seconds of peace Waking knowing only birds Then I remember. 

I just can’t kill our Power-mad wisteria  It’s braver than me. 

Leaf tip weighs its tear Springs back as the dear drop falls Now for another

I stayed on that path That ran east as the sun set And ran east at dawn.

We fight; I get sick, Say ‘doctor, is it fatal?’ She says it’s normal. 12.11.16

Old men and babies The gravid, and lunchtime drunks Nap before evening.  23.3.2008