Some words, some letters hum incessantly near my ear deep into the night. They say, breathe us into bloom with your passion and imagination, give us life within ourselves.
I laugh and wonder, where do I have such power? Yet the letters persist in their demands, they won't let me sleep until I arrange them just so...they keep me stubbornly awake; though I had wanted at least one night to simply be myself!
I couldn't. Had to sit up.
For arranging letters, separation seems most essential. The letters finally garland themselves around separation's throat.
That separation...not just any separation, but fire blazing wild within the chest, fire that pauses only to flare up with greater force!
In that fire I temper letters and arrange words. I don't know how much I manage. Since birth I've only been trying.