Nobody needs it. Plenty has been said—
plus the light through my blinds
is enough. Or when, on winter nights, the windows
acquire a glow from the newly rested
snow. Or when I trace
the shadow of a streetlamp, or the leaves
dancing on the pages
of a book on my lap.
These things are praised in art too much.
I leave so little for myself.
William G. Gillespie lives and writes in Brooklyn. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Boats Against the Current, Red Eft Review, Olney Magazine, and The Drunken Canal.
Eunoia Review 