To all the people who write when they aren’t writing, especially Jo, I dedicate this:
WRITING on NOT WRITING
I can feel my ship about to come in.
A white ship in a snowstorm
The ship is made of gulls
in the shape of a ship.
When it arrives, they will fly out into the storm,
leaving a space inside it
clear as reason.
I can tell there’s going to be a blizzard
of being somewhere else
because of time’s noise eating itself up
that is the noise of listening
that looks like a seething, florid whiteout of wings.