plink You come to poetry not out of what you know but out of what you wonder. —Lucille Clifton breath catches every day the same will anything come? sitting at my keyboard blank mind I fall still listen for what’s inside something but no words then, like a drop of water hanging from a faucet plink an unexpected word or phrase arrives— it was given, so I start with that today, plink odd I accept the gift drop into it what’s given may be cut but I’m grateful for a way to start
I finally learned that the way in is just to start. I sit and wait for something to come, open to the ideas that live inside. Then something speaks to me and my fingers start to move, and I have the beginning of a piece. xo