Written

Let me go about making the world bright,
where the first line drops
and repeatedly states, “I must be written.”
“But why? You are only the first line,
and so what shall I write after? Will the rest
come to me? Will you, the Muse,
open her hands and give more where
I have written only the beginning, and the
rest is left to speculation?”

The first line, when
I sometimes wonder, “what if instead it were
the last, and I could go about making it
the ending?” So let me go, will you?
Into all those dark places, where the light
reaches because it has to.
Let me go about making the world bright.

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