8th January, 2023

Pen to Paper

It begins

with a thought on air.

Like a magic genie

on a carpet.  I

cannot catch it.

 

The day and night

move through.  Another

thought on air.

Only this time

from a different direction.  I

cannot catch it.

 

Days later, sometimes minutes,

thoughts float,

dance,

like playful fairies

dropping hints, sprinkling words

in phrases, on air.  I

cannot catch them.

 

Suddenly,

the words take shape, become clear.

Phrases transform into sentences,

juxtapose,

moving faster, sliding on air.  I

cannot catch them.

 

The race has begun.

The lights come on.

Pen to paper.

Thought becomes form.

 

All this happens

in the stillness of night.

Listening, in silence,

I hear angels whispering

and catch creation

going by.