WORDS

WRITING

He has a million of them,

words, tumbling about,

evanescent as snowflakes

in his head ; until, for no

reason he has been able

to determine, a small

cluster of them collides,

clotting into mysterious,

provisional assemblies,

reassembling, discarding

abruptly some of their

number, sending out

lightning messages

hither and yon through

dark and never before

explored passages

of the brain in search

of other words that fit

their needs.  Bumping

and jostling up against

each other, they form

patterns, first in phrases,

fragments of sentences,

then sometimes a whole

paragraph or poem.

That’s how it happens.

And if only to clear out

his head, which is now

starting to ache, Coyote

scribbles them down
obediently on paper.

He calls this “writing.”

MORE WORDS

What a pleasure

then, with a breath,

to let them go again,

these words, and make

room for more.