I have carved truth and beauty into yellowed parchment,
having created something unique, vital, simple, complex, and bottomless
as a fallen flower. The jagged edge of brokenness
intrudes upon my soul, and dusty fingerprints outline
the soul of this poem. The unbroken stretch of time
has not erased these words eclipsing
the sun and moon alike.

What troubles they must have faced; what creative, poetic troubles
would have gnawed on that author—spirit
like moss and ivy on a house! Impossible feats are possible
viewed the right way, melding dark and light
into lines that are like a wishing well and looking glass.
These rhymes instill visions that I thought
would never come again,

and the rhythm beats faster than fire. For me,
I find a new renewal in this poem. After years of waiting
to write that masterpiece, that pièce de résistance,
word after word grasps into touch, paper, and ink
to reveal the tide of inspiration.