For forty days, forty nights
I live in the wilderness
of monkpoetry, small words
visiting me daily ad
seriatim with a mind
all their own—or so doth seem.
It comes my grateful duty
then to re-order the drafts
and find a place for them in
some more ambitious project.
To be faithful to that task
I have to go where word is
afore world ever doth rise—
there as the get-go of God,
that word . . . in the beginning.
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