Life in the Hermitage

 

I know I teach too much

Old habit

Sometimes it’s prophecy, but

The voice is mine

I don’t speak with any authority

Come down, or come up,

From God

 

Sometimes I think certain things belong

Together

That’s poetry

 

I washed a few dishes in my small sink

I looked into the new year’s sky

It’s gray

That seems right

A January pallet

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Craig Whitehead on Unsplash