Filling the Writing Bowl

An empty bowl
an empty house?
I’ve polished Christmas for another year.
The lists are made
The cake has been eaten
I find myself
staring onto a blank white page
the candle wick has been blackened
the thread of my days loops and twists
and does not know direction
for this is the place
wherein I wait
for messages
and time

We’ll walk
and watch the paper clouds
toss
in the blue space
between the words
until chaos
settles once more
and patterns
the new days.