Eyes closed, the poet stares into the void,
The unformed sea of roiling consciousness
Where everything potential is deployed,
While seeking some coherence in this mess,
For something out of nothing may appear
Amazingly, which he, alert, might see,
The notion or the image growing clear
As words give birth to its reality.
Just as, somehow, mentality arose
From energy and matter still inchoate,
Likewise an unshaped composition grows
Within the consciousness of a blessed poet.
Therefore he roams and ranges in his mind,
Uncertain but still sure of what he’ll find.