How I long to grasp at Heaney's squat pen
Instead of flying lightning fingertips
Across a headache-bright square.
A flare of brilliance
Is better captured the old way,
But there would have to be a transfer,
Which would lead to hesitation
Then deletion,
(Plus there's too much guilt about trees,
And I can never find a pen).
Heaney hesitated, too
And dwelt on digging,
Before acceptance, and resolve.
My fingers flutter over letters, seeking my own answer,
Determined to dig myself
Out of this hole.