Apology

When the sun beats down
on my back, and I'm
hard at work at something
unbrainy, practical,
it's feasible to be
brave about the way
in which, somewhat naively,
I had thought to gain
the world. At night thought
the dark tends to bring
a different world home
to me, harder, colder, flat
in colour and pretty much
unforgiving: there's only
messing with words as a
cold, last resort
and even that, I fear,
merits derision:
one more fool to take
itself seriously.