BROODING

    I meditate, I ruminate and then
    I cogitate—as if I were a hen
    brooding on my eggs in hopes that one
    or two will hatch before the morning sun
    arises and the busyness of day
    must interfere and carry me away.

    It’s only in this little niche of time
    between awakening and the day that I’m
    available to summon up my Muse
    and search my subtle consciousness for clues
    as to the course of thought my verse should take,
    discovering what the Mystery can make.

        For who can name the source of all creation?
        What’s best to do is join in the ovation.

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