The Poems

The Poems January 16, 2012

When starting out, I was so excited

that anything showed up, I thought

I was done. But somewhere along

the way, I realized they are alive

and I wasn’t wrestling them into

view. They, respecting my effort,

agreed to be seen. Not to be re-

vealed, but to be loved. Now I

circle back in the morning to see

what they need from me. Just more

of my attention which starts with me

undressing what I know. For the

longest time I thought I was revising.

It’s more a conversation in which I

keep learning how to listen. And

when I do, they will after a time

pull aside a cloth or cloud to make

obvious the reason they have come.

"I'm not at all sure that we are all talking about the same thing when ..."

The Inner Critic
"that made me laugh. his own wound ruined his momentff.LAURENS.CLUB\v5963pw"

Imparting Bliss
"Monet was nearsighted and painted what he saw."

Stacks of Wheat

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