My fingers barely connect with the keys
Making letters appear in perfectly straight lines,
Misspellings automatically corrected,
Bland sentences erased and replaced

If I ever wrote as well as I intended to
I would work for my words harder than
they've worked for me
I would form thoughts in shallow trenches
Working out every letter, digging the flow
Reopening blisters and blinking on stinging sweat,
if I ever wrote as well as I intended to

Let my verses stretch the length of the valley
Giving the earth a fraction of what
she has given to me
Let them climb the cliffs, bleeding
nubs of fingers guiding their path
Let my words fall to the sky in towers of smoke

And when I am finished
Let them be swallowed, corroded, and filled
Let them dissipate and separate, for no one else
will I ever write as well as I intend to