Uncoupled

Dear God, I am uncoupled like a train
or kite without string,
if I can’t write
poems on a daily basis.

The birds don’t sing.
The food I eat is tasteless.
I sit and sit and sit,
look at the screen.

My wife does not approve.

Go out, she says,
This definitely is not a life
and you’re not dead.

Give life a chance.

And what then can I answer?
It is a dance
that becomes a kind of self
that is, but is not kind.

God’s bloody hand
has set me on my way,
but not set free.
I see from Mt. Nebo the promise,
not allowed to go.