But I have to get back to this poem

Approach it with joy. That’s my main issue. I approach with fear, hesitation, anxiety. Wasting. I approach comparatively and that has held me back.

What I need is what holds me forward. Where is she? If I’m looking I’m looking in all the incorrect places. Pour. Forget what ever you have heard about the earth. Call it. Go to it. Her. Change the context. I have to focus until I see a tree. Don’t climb it. Wait.

I don’t know how much more I have in me. At worst, perfection. Love softly. See how it will turn to sound, the branches to brightness, the leaves to a lady watching all of this from her dream. If I did not know better myself I would say exactly what she would want me to say under the cover of a fear of language, right now cover me, uncover – what if I finished a poem.

I had a fear of writing. I avoided it. Count it all joy. Stay inside and don’t forget to pray there. You don’t want to know what this means and that is just as beautiful as knowing anything.

It’s everywhere at the same time. The labor to find the words. Say it as your mouth is full, cry until you find yourself awake and not having the words, laying the words back into this earth, formless and void and anything I can’t yet imagine it to be. Before she said a word, lean into the sound, sit on the floor, pick up his bones, don’t say, just sleep again, as though it’s light)