Monday, 7 March 2016

On writing

Words hewn from the rocks of Purbeck
Thoughts mined
Panned from the silt, or
puzzled out
Joined end to end and piece by piece
Appearing in epiphany
Making sudden and absolute sense
Like the crossword returned to
And viewed through a different lens.

Or sometimes, gouged from a deeper place
Percolating like coffee
Stronger and sharper by the hour
Dormant for months
And woken in a flurry
Settling quickly on the white of the page
Or carved from ice, lost when I melt.

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