to sit down and write

the best place to sit – out back on the porch
feet mounted on the wall
but if I find myself indoors
I’m at my desk facing the window
gazing out at the trees

before I pick up my pen
I take time to read a poem
time to think about the poet’s work
a look for sparks

there’s no grand introduction
an open notebook, add the date
and spill the stuff in my head
out on to the page

I write til I give out of steam or ideas or direction
I read and ponder
wonder what I had to say
had I considered that thought at all
a moment of insight
or merely a spilling of words