Dig

Click clackin at the keys
My mind making the sound of wind blowing through an old glass bottle
I used to write this way because all my thoughts were underground
deep in the soil of my heart
and I had to dig
I had to dig through the salted earth
beneath the topsoil, exposed to the elements of life
that soil where the careless tread and bugs creep
I would scoop up a huge pile of words and toss them aside
scoop, toss, scoop,toss, scoop, toss...
it never took long to find myself in the trenches
fingernails covered in the clay of imagination and intention
Like an emotional geologist I'd sift through these grounds of rocks and seeds
I'd rinse the lines that had potential
washing my heart of stone in a creek
Sometimes I'd run my fingers along the cracks in the stone,
imagining the galaxy of colors and shapes inside.