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.