On Process

I need to read before I write

It’s dangerous to go in hungry 

I’ll spend more than I have

And come home with what I don’t need

Best instead  to be nourished by 

someone else’s words 

still gummy between my teeth

Fingers washing the last of them

down the kitchen sink

Each paragraph the door to

an old friend’s imagination

I walk the halls of their home away from the

steady march of dog nails on the hardwood 

And scraping pots and pans of mine

Break away from the catatonic sound 

of my lover asking 

if I know where

And did we ever 

and wasn’t I going to

His train of thought the lever

On which mine changes course

Throughout the day

To a place that glints with sharp lines

And clear paths 

High cliffs and foamy oceans 

Where I can breathe