binary digits

arranged into poetry

returned to the wind

a late night at work

is productive to a point

then the beer comes out

New year, back to work

The now familiar boredom

Finds me writing verse.

Where are my poems?

Winter lines frozen in ice,

Pen scratching out words.

like the center sun

robot keeps me toasty and

rotates like the moon.

the brand new leaf turns

with great dignity and grace

but you don't notice.

emptiness too long

the zen garden disappeared

can refill the mind

rejoice my poets

our vessel has returned

drink to a new life!

the village returns

failed drives and missing backups

zen garden wiped clean