From the collection And Don’t Come Back, 2021.

Of Its Own Volition

Page through the dictionary
in search of nothing in particular
the kind of aimless and wandering
that suggests you along a path
stripping off a leaf here and there
from whatever bush or stem
your hand happens to brush

Fold over rows of tiny print
with quiet flicks of your fingers
on the thin light paper
the words in their columns bounce
rattle their syllables
a little sentence or two shakes out
the order nudges into line
like dominoes on a table
edges clacked together
like lucky throws adding up exactly right

because now
I see
what I wanted to say
it has chosen to come to me

3/6/20
3/11/20