i used to try
to kill time
trying to write—
bending the
sentences
back and forth— hoping
to straighten
them out—
but they
would not bend,
pretending
i was meaningfully
doing something—
sweating
grunting
in hot pursuit
of a writing goal—

it eased the
guilt of
spending
meaningless time—
but i wasn’t
really past that—

still it kept me
in the game
blindly slugging
it out with the words—
later i learned
to get out of their way
they seemed to have
an urgency of their own—

they think quite well
as long as i’m there
i didn’t need
to be such a
bully but i did
have to show up

they liked me
giving them space
like most living things.