Village diary

Good Friday I slept very badly
my imagination
a brief changing of gears
as if I had a fever - perhaps a pause
in the furnace of some desert wind

the devil whispered to me
I had passed the original
spawning ground but it is hard
to judge from much of our folklore
to give up ones urge to wander

the edge of the Atlantic
like the trembling wing 
of some drowsy bird
the uncertainty of Lily 
a prolonged adolescence, the dreamy 
look of young girls

For my MTB: Critique and Craft Prompt: “Patchworking some Prose” we are picking out short lines, from a single, chosen page of two book selections, to then combine as poetry in alternating lines. I’ve patchworked title and poem from Laurie Lee (italicised) “Village Christmas and Other stories” (p 33) with “The Diaries of Paul Klee” (p 51)