A dreary poem for a dreary day:

Not Getting the Memo

Footstep, footstep, one before the next;
Walls to walls, and walls to walls again;
A glimpse of sky, a glimpse of honest text;
A glimpse of love, glasses speckled with rain.
From room to room, from word to word abstain
From solitude and from all others’ eyes;
To pages, as though pages could attain
The hard world’s labyrinthine qualities;
To confrontation with legion demands,
To reveries, and strange unpleasant dreams,
To fumbling keys in cold, wind-battered hands,
To shaping and reshaping former schemes.
One lifts a glass in toast to living—losing—
One drinks, knowing the complexity of choosing.

How I do love the sonnet. L'chaim!