in the period
when time
stood still

the old man
for a memory

a mislaid

somewhere …

in the recesses …

an old mind

he thought

I am
an old mind

full up
with clutter

a workshop
overfilled with boxes
and jars of screws
and nails
and bolts

and tools


as he sat
apparently doing nothing
in the chair
that was situated
to allow a view
through the long
kitchen window
out into the garden
he felt it

a sensation

the soft perfume smell
of a rose

the sound of the hammer
descending to strike
the anvil

the yielding
of a bowl of cream
as he ran his finger through it

the knocking hollow
of a loaf of bread
just out of the oven

the …

and suddenly
time started

as he


Poem #492 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

12 thoughts on “trigger

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