I cannot sleep because I am tall.
Vibrant thinking shakes me awake.

Within twenty years I’ll be dead
with enough failures to make me wise.

I hope wisdom displays itself in my poems—
at least a few of them.

My old desk was too short
but had a drawer full of words I could draw from.

My new desk is the right height
but has no drawers.

Odd that digital clocks tick just as loud
as the Black Forest cuckoo clock in my childhood home.

I think of the world without me.
Nothing changes.

copyright © 2023 Kenneth P. Gurney

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