Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Blank is my mind
like the bright white of a clean sheet of printer paper
of action or reaction
opinion or observation
And yet, the rhythm of those unspoken
courses through my entire being,
like a train speeding down endless miles of railroad track to the
rhythm of its own engine
Where the words have gone - I don't know.
But I take comfort in knowing that the poem will be waiting
when I find them.