What if

the words won’t

come

the spark won’t

catch

the page remains

a complex

blank

of possibility —

unshaped,

unformed,

unsculpted.

What if the muse,

accepting of all

blame,

remains

on the periphery,

out of reach?

Beyond the barrier,

Gray Catbird sings

improvisation…

My hand,

cramps.

What if

What if

What

i

f

?

 

— C.Birde, 8/18