Sometimes,
    When I'm grasping
          For something to say,

I lay on my back
And stare carefully
     At the dizzy dance
Of the ceiling fan's motion,

And think of all the other times
      I longed for the sky to
            Crack,
      The ground to shake,
      The leaves to tell me
             Their secrets,

All the times I yearned
For something,
      Anything,
To come crashing in a
      Passionate heat
      Into my life again.