Frenzy

12/16/92

How fragile is a poem
when first it alights!

Suddenly, out of half-coherent thoughts,
I feel the words coming,
hear the pattern that will hold them.
I must catch it now,
Before this fleeting phantom
Skitters away.

Frantically searching - here's the pen -
paper, paper! Hold it, keep the thought -
Where's my notebook?

(We who serve the muse
would do well to stay prepared.)

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