The first bit I wrote
after the drought
where my words were stuck
past my teeth
down my sore throat
weak from loneliness
deep into crevices under my ribs
and ribboning around my heart
in ways that hung the truth
was a piece about how love
stomped down the barbed wire fence
in just enough places
to let myself walk over
curious
in my boots among the sheep
to kick down rocks and boulders
like a bear
who knows better than to keep sleeping
so he wakes up
and uses his ferocious voice
to unplug the dam
which lets the waters flow
then builds a boat
and heaps it with words
chiseled out of black tar
before burning the whole place clean
for new growth
then sails to find you
and writes this bit first