I want to write a poem today.
It need not be art,
it just needs to be.
I want to write a poem every day
with a deep abiding want,
but allowing this desire
will bring only more wanting,
not poems. They will sneak past as if
I’m not even here.
I will hear them: a distant train
on a moonlit night, whistling in the dark.
(in order of sequence: feministing.com, jogjis.com, charlesghigna.blogspot.com)