Almost but not quite

the door jams when you close it

so leave it open just a crack

i went to finish some reading in my room

but instead stared at the ceiling lying on my back

those hours won't return to me

so i tiptoe across the hall and down the stairs

the floorboards always squeak in those places

but tonight i'd rather sleep in my living room chair

i awake to chirping birds and gray skies

the paradox of this morning writes dizziness on my rested eyes

blossoms on the trees seem dull in the flickering light

like the candle in my room that sparks but won't ignite

the blank page scares me

especially when I pick up my pen

so torn pages from old books become my muse

art derived from dusty leather-bound lives forced to breathe again

dismally uncertain, coerced spontaneity

the world upside down like the bent light my eye sees

and everything is off just by a degree or two

like when you glance at me but I'm not looking at you

written 27 march 2020