My life’s Work

I sometimes consider
that all these texts,
the majority,
The best part,
are not mine,

They appear in my mind,
When my body is in posture and my thoughts pass to a second plane.
I do nothing,
make no effort,

They are laid there, ready to be written,
Like threads that stick out
Between two boards and on which I pull

I contemplate its length, its color,
The texture, as it unfolds,
Today I feel an immense gratitude for it,

I appreciate its generosity, its gratuity, its grace,
And it fills me with joy,
With a forgotten joy,
This is the work of my life,
But it is not my work.

©FJ Jan 2025
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