Psalm for My Sickness
As absent friends along the verges roam
where thought’s exhausted soil rests, renews,
prepares itself to waken teeming loam
when lost acquaintance is made anew;
as poets walk the hedgerows unaware
of purpose, meaning, creed or anything
except their company, both common, rare:
ruby-throated hummingbirds and all things
that seeming small, absurd, of little worth
still wear the print of a Creator’s thumb;
so let me wander aimless—mute as earth
worms thoughtless burrow deep, as dumb as sun
flowers tracking day across a summer sky—
through cloudless noons in fields that fallow lie.After 20+ years of teaching writing and poetry, Justin Kennington is spending retirement on his own poetry, memoirs, and plays. His first collection, “Read Me Alive” was self-published in 2025.—
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