We write like toddlers slurping popsicles.
No napkins. No manners.
Sometimes we write struggling
like the salmon forcing her way home against
the relentless current.
We must lay our word eggs or die.
Late at night
we write like silk pillows.
coaxing mind down,
drowsy and drugged…
whispering to memory and madness,
We write the edge between
endlessly murmuring tidal sentences,
crashing wave phrases!
We pull a rabbit out of our hat.
The magical bunny advisor tells us,
“Leap to conclusions,
Under our pens the desert blooms.
Fireworks give birth.
Still rivers change course.
We write as an offering
to the sacred vessel,
floating across the waters of destiny.