This has been out of my control.
The path opened before me and all I did was follow it.
Words came unbidden.
I wrote them down.
Just a stenographer 
Just the court recorder,
The transcript,
Recorded.
None of this makes any sense.
It has been obsession.
Every step natural 
All just follow through.

When I sang the song
I decided to just open the book and read along.
At random
And the words perfectly (imperfectly) line up
How does that happen?
How did any of this happen?

It is vulgar to say I am proud of this work?
It isn’t perfect.
That’s not what I am saying.
You can criticize it all you want.

I have loved these words.
From their birth.
Nurtured them
Read them at midnight.
Listened to them backward.
I have imprinted them on my heart.
They are now a part of me
Half remembered from another life.

The artwork.
The music.
It all came together.
Every thread.
Each stitch perfectly/imperfectly placed.

And it came through me.
Faster than lightening
Crashes to the ground.

and now that I am almost ready to close this book
I wonder if it will ever come again.