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"the question"
“The Question”
What do I enjoy most?
It is not the finished page —
though it breathes back at me
like the tide kissing rock.
It is the weight of the pen,
its ink loosening thought
the way rain teases the dust awake.
It is the moment a phrase arrives unbidden,
like a shy bird alighting on an outstretched hand.
It is the quiet between heartbeats,
when the mind leans in and language,
at last, agrees to stay awhile.
It is the labour and the listening —
the long wrestle for a true word,
the surrender to its music,
and the knowing that even this
small thing can tether a soul to wonder.
.
.
