Errant Lines Poem by Bill Grace
Errant Lines
Listening
in bed,
with wife beside me,
to the strange whistle
of the air conditioner -
I write.
It does not matter
that she is recovering
from cancer surgery.
It does not matter
the cat approves
the speed
of her repairing body.
It does not matter
even
that daughter joins
us in bed and jostles
the paper upon which
I write.
These are errant lines
written
but
not even for a reader.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 9:51:26 AM # 1.0.0.1119
The eye catching title of the poem drew me to it, I was absolutely mesmerized as I went through. Oh, what a beautiful poem this is! 'These are errant lines written but not even for a reader.' - If a reader reads these 'errant' lines, he would certainly look for your other 'errant' works. A magnificent poem, well written. I've read your biography. Amazed to see with how much care you've so elaborately constructed it. This too is well written.