On the days when my tongue betrays me
The pen is my ally.
While it cannot turn off my mind
It is comforting to have a friend
Who promises the comfort of revision,
Of reinvention,
Of erasure,
Of closure.

On the nights
When my bed is my solace
And sleep is a guest who takes too damn long to arrive
There are words
my words
That I can use to dream.

There are days when my mind
And my words
Try to pass the torch to my mouth

It’s gotten used to burning itself.

There are times when I’m told I’m lucky
so creative
That I can think
so smart
That I can dream
so beautiful
That I can orchestrate these words
And get lost between them.
Take a hollow seashell put it to my ear
and hear the ocean.
See the wisps of smoke rising from a fire
And see clouds.