A Secret!

  This story’s in my mind and I’ve heard that I am clever. I want to write a poem just to say I wrote a   poem about the fact I wrote a poem on exactly the same subject. Everyday I find it in my brain, stuck in place, indeed.   Is this where it belongs? No! My words shine like a billion little flashbulbs.   Not the halogen or the flourescent types of light,   an example of our need for illumination.   a crostich from my wife, though she’s never known to sew. A comforter I wrap myself up in. rest tonight, son, go to bed early. Soon enough you’ll see the night be over. Soon enough you’ll see it is time to rise, time to grow in the soft sun of the cold autumn morning.