Most days, just showing up
is enough. In fact, entire
lives can be spent that way,
gliding down tracks that
others made and will praise
you for following.
There's no reward in poetry.
It's hard each time. I start
with nothing, one thin syllable,
perhaps, then try to ride it into
hurt, or joy, or all that can be
holy in the ordinary.
You have to commit to the absurd.
Get up early. Do the work. Seek.
Lest you go to sleep for years.