For all the times when writer’s block has dammed the flow of words. Like a beaver it plugs the essence, but like a force of nature, the floods of creativity bring those dams crashing down. Again and again, hope shimmers at the end of every one of those bottlenecks.

I feel out of touch 
A tad bit rusty 
Cranky and creaky
Tinny and such 
The words clump together 
With a grind and a grate
I wonder if a month away 
Has dulled my tapestry of verse 
Shimmering skeins that advance and traverse 
Embroidering and stitching 
Notions and qualms
Into billowing storms 
Into rippling, sashaying ribbons of calm 
Bewildering phrases that make me guffaw 
Festering sentences painful and raw 
In bobbing waves with lacy edges
In crashing, lashing, tearing deluges 
In twinkling stardust upon my page 
My blinking cursor running away 
With the train of my thoughts to the drum of my heart 
Laughing, singing, assuaging an ache 
Grieving, weeping, caught in the wake 
I wonder if my keyboard, unstirred, unscathed
For two score nights and forty days 
Has borne my quickening string away.