One year this was the only poem I wrote.
It's called "Lethargy."
[LAUGHTER]
It smiles to see me still in my bathrobe.
It sits in my lap and will not let me rise.
Now it is kissing my eyes.
Arms enfold me, arms pale with a thick down.
It seems I am falling asleep to the sound of a story being
read me.
This is the story.
Weeks have passed since first I lifted my hand to set it down.