I am finally learning to reward myself for being a writer,
or a cistern
collecting gravity-bound drops of words together
saving them for a bright moment,
or a dark truth,
or simply an apt place for their release
I have at last accepted
that the pen and I are old companions
together making paper rue the day
when it stood blank against our indomitable will
If the sinews of my hand ever give up
their will to take the droplets
and distill them into verse,
like fine mountain shine from corn
then may my lips utter those distillations
in the presence and company of ears that may enjoy them
I am neither judge nor jury as to their content
or holy meaning
or even their sensibility
but am rather a taste-tester
enjoying their delicious spicy flavor
as they roll across my tongue and lips
bound for air ears and heaven
Yes, I'll have more please,
and one for my good friend the pen