it's dawn and the light is
silvery or golden or some other such stereotype
the air between here and the mountains outside my windows is
a million shades of gentle pastel
it's beautiful, and I feel I should write about it
It deserves words
But right now I'm tired and as I reach for them they all
look at me and laugh and do not want to come out
I, who am so addicted to communication
have times I want to share the insides of my mind with someone
but the thought of trying to pick up the phone
of trying to actually talk
just seems utterly unbearable
And then I sit and try to write, and the next thing I know I have a post
When I thought that I couldn't possibly say anything
That expressing words was just too daunting
Of course, all the right ones stay locked up tight inside my head
(it looks like a painting or a postcard or something unreal)
God is nigh
