If you can stare at the blank
page long enough, they will come.
Stand guard over rides come to rest
in a parking lot long after dusk
has settled in for the night,
surrounding a first floor balcony,
they will surely come.
Analyze the bark where a tree stands
at the end, push-packed in
snowdrifts furthest from the drive;
they will eventually come.
They will come numbered as passengers
in planes beginning their descent
from the skies, the air
is full of them. They are myriad
meanings en route, in root.
Its all there.
Its all here.
How scary is the page, really?
At any other time, any other location
I would have prayed hard for deliverance
from all things of obstacle, that which
stifles and blocks and torments.
But not today.