Where do words come from
that curl themselves in poetry
and iron out in prose?
Where are they tumbling from?
They slip from my tongue
as glass beads do from a string
and break into a thousand shards
to pierce one heart too many.

Sometimes they flow out
succinctly, clearly.
Yet something amiss remains
until that one word emerging from nowhere
transforms my simple pool
into a crystal lake.
Who birthed that word?

The way into this origin
this mystic spring, this ocean of notions
is unknown.
Unheard of.

I keep searching.

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