me

I write, drawing on

some source that has all

the words ready for me

in the right order

I sit quietly in nature and the 

connection is formed,

my left hand expresses them

 

I am in there somewhere, a

whole part of me glimpsed,

though I can look at it with awe, admire

its truth separate from myself

 and I wonder at that

there is no effort,

merely have to sit quietly

 

except for my left hand, 

I don't know that I'd be

here

Reviews

[Toni Prehoda Kahler]

I think I get this from other conversations. It makes me extremely jealous! I especially enjoyed the last thought, because I can read into it both ways: "here" being just the poem itself, or perhaps your life.