Seedsman

For who knows not,
how many sounds
and silent letters
hold up in the throat
daily, till cleared.

And might we write
at least a thousand
more, today?
And put our fingers
to the page,
so that Muse,
who travels
so incessantly
might not forget to
visit us?

Impetuous her,
that we should
catch her
by the tail
and drag her
from the air,
until she does;
“pull these letters
from us.”

So that all these
words
we are compelled to say
are finally released,
dispersed like seeds
upon the wind
to fall – where they lay.

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