Where do you go to find words?
Is there a store you can drive to in the mall and
purchase them by the dozen?
Or is it like going to a deli on Sunday morning
and taking a number, waiting your turn,
then ordering the words you want--sliced extra lean,
a quarter-pound or a pound,
with a pickle or two on the side?
Or is it more like bird-watching,
waiting in stillness with binoculars around your neck,
scanning the sky, hoping words will come into view,
wings spread, flying into sight so you can record
their presence before they depart for their next destination,
as if they might leap off the page of your journal
in search of a permanent home.
Or is it like fishing,
waiting for a nibble, a bite, waiting
for the line to tug down and the rod to bend
toward the water, and you can feel the words pulling
as you grope for a way to haul them up, maybe
using a net, maybe just with your bare hands,
so you can get the words on the page,
wet and glistening like jewels,
gills still rising and falling,
vibrating with life.