a poems beginning,
is like walkin out
into the woods,
n ya just gotta start from nuttin.
the process is slow at first,
n then ya start to gather it in.
not far away
is a brook surrounded by shade
where the pup tent is pitched.
i collect the rocks
one by one
for the campsite
to create a boundary
like linkin words together.
ya can feel
that a pulse is startin to emerge,
as dusk tends to darkness.
darkness ensues in full bloom,
where a full moon peaks
in through the trees,
and engulfs the frontier.
it takes a while,
but the kindlin is ignited,
n the flames grow,
like a poem is left to glow.

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