Tonight I trolled the internet for other words,
like a fisherman certain a raw hunk of steak
will hook the big one. But I too came up empty,
dangling words like worms from my fingertips:

uncertainty, loss, ambiguity

No poem or pithy quote could contain
within its words the violent mass of feeling
that tangles in my throat like filament, fine but tensile,
and unlikely to unravel in my drunk-fingered fiddling.

So I returned to the blank page and listened
into its cool pool of soundless sonic shush
for the thudding, budding beat of my own small life
surfacing, sharp as a fin flicks through water.

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