160: Writer's Block
I run out of words to write,
swiveling a pen in
uninspired hands
envious of God
who flung the stars into place
who pulled mountains from the deep
who painted the undersides of clouds
and kissed the sea to create ripples,
who tucked flowers into mountain sides
like a child into bed,
who taught the birds to sing
and the wind to dance,
who wrote creation
like a sonnet or a waltz
who made it all look easy,
who never once-
not even for a second,
thought of you and didn’t
know what to write.
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