The Ancient Modern

Telling Time  /  Joshua Alan Sturgill         

Last night, stepping into sleep,
I thought: tomorrow I’ll wake

ready for important things.  But 
morning passes again, and I

spend the hours idly scribbling
shallow marks on the world

like sparrows’ tracks among
fallen oak leaves.  I drink a fifth

cup of tea; I listen to the clock
without looking to see the time.  

What use am I — except that I
can tell the seasons
by the sparrows’ songs?


All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2022 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s