I gather my thoughts in a bundle
Collecting them slowly, not rushed,
Then tying them up with a promise
In silence. Their voices are hushed.

And then I can start on my writing.
Distractions and passions are gone:
Forgetting the typist beside me,
The fridge, and the sun on the lawn.

Forgetting the man at the bus stop,
The ache in my walk-hungry knees,
That argument halfway completed,
The futile, long search for my keys.

All these I put ever behind me
And only keep one thing in view,
Apart from my task, while I’m working,
I’m still thinking always of you.