Words come

Words Come
Words come
Through sources unbidden

Not intended
For me alone

I write them
Or not

Words yearn for readers

Hollows my spirit

I live in the yearning
Or hide in the hollows

Living in abandon
Xinjiang Province, China

Taken during travels, 1998

I should acknowledge a couple muses: Heath Muchena’s‘s poem, why write? and Ben Truesdale‘s poem Words Come (for blog — On the Heath — I of July).

It was as I read Heath’s that words began to come. But I’d read Ben’s earlier, and its opening line was lodged in my unconscious. This poem was well underway when I realized I’d absconded with a couple of his words.

No matter, I suppose. As this poem observes, the words were intended for you, the reader, not for us.