In My Hands
This month I have collected together twenty two poems into a volume called In My Hands. Here is the title poem.
The poems reflect on the physical and emotional experience of ageing and of having more time to pause and reflect.
The title sums up the responsibility that our choices rest within our own hands.
In my hands
In the vennel,
A swift skirts my face, in haste,
To put food in the nest.
Through rain and sun, the peony
Refuses the temptation to release.
I dream-walk my days.
The moon silvers my circle of slate
Then leaves me in the dark.
I mind the minute changes,
Roll time in my hands,
Tread lightly so as not to wake the sleeping clock,
Take time to pass the time of day
That, even so,
Wings by like the swift.