My poem is netted so wear the crown
That I have the good part down.
Writing goes on when doing other things -
Grief tested, laugh lines broken, wordless stings.
Each step is tested without sight -
A formula, A record, A map of the night?
Impulse surmounted, detachment seeps in -
Take a look, take a peek, see your sin.
You will not finish all that you start-
Surprise lies in the window face of art.