First, a tundra in stasis;
a white-*****, emptied book
whose unmade letters sleep:
icy, furled, and blank. Then,
breath; a near audible thawing
of unbridled shapes and mute fire;
now, the bright stampede. Hooves
breaking into the field. Next,
words.
a poem about the process of conceiving and writing a poem. hope you like it.
