A Writer’s Shed: The Poem

“Writing is an act of faith” —E.B. White
 E.B. White’s Boat House

As some of you know, I have been working on completing an outbuilding that will soon be my writer’s shed, a simple place to find solace and a place to create. I plan to fill it with solitude and words. Those words began today when I wrote a “flash” poem on what was before me. Not to suggest that something good comes with speed, but in only five minutes these words came to me in a river’s flow. 
A Writer’s Shed 

My sacred space emerges 
Among the gardens of my home
Among the flowers of a lifetime
Among the seas all alone
Words are never written
Inside the roses one must tend
But are found in heaven’s spaces
Alongside the time I must spend
Lost in my heart forever
Pouring out from blood-soaked vines
It is here that I am with the angels
It is here I find the lines
The truth of what I’m thinking
Every solitary shift
These are the discoveries of angels
These are the sincere and lonely gifts
             —David W. Berner 2.17.17

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