I had not intended to write this today
As the sun shines
Through waning days of autumn
I had thought to write
Or of my garden, overgrown
Or of my love for husband or daughters
But
Out of every pore
Loneliness crept out
Showing its face in decayed light
Not joy
Not even ever-defining chores
That surround and fill my day
But the loneliness
That seeps into
Crevices and bone
Making marrow of nights and days
In timely fashion
Perhaps
This was not what I asked for
Or maybe not
But nonetheless
It crowds my thoughts
And permeates my view
I am tempted to cry
The tears of resignation
But remain dry-eyed
In the face of this
My enduring legacy of fear
When I am no more
Will you have known
My secret heart
Will you have found this,
My secret notebook of dreams?