And the heart and the air: Today

Left bewildered. There is a kink in the words. A place flow is blocked, buried under grass, new grown, covered in soil.

A month of intense writing and then a month of only writing here and there. In the moment I always think it is fine to break this habit, that it will come back in time. The longer I wait the longer it takes. There is no poet’s escape. There is no sudden and complete break through. What would I break through anyway? Why break the page when it is all I have to write on?

Summer time the garden grabs my attention. The daisy’s growing towards the sun, crowding the hot lips. The Red Currant growing faster than I thought, running the peas up the trellis. I want to learn the names of these many different bees. I want to sit in the sun and listen to the Chickadee communicate across yards. I want make friends with this neighborhood cat to tempt it to guard my plants from rabbits.