Dance of the pen

The dance of the pen is something else
Something magical—an ordinary wand
Turning pumpkins into carriages
Blank paper into manuscripts
Mushrooms into imaginary homes
Starlight into wishes come true

The dance of the pen makes the writer feel
like a buoyant athlete—
sweating profusely,,
tired as hell
but able to delight in
the feeling of triumph̦—
in what began as sore legs and desperation
and ended as speed and strength

The dance of the pen is an elusive dance—
it spins in the shadows
it bends under trees
it shies from strong sunlight
it reveals itself only
to the ones who wait


every day

especially when

the music is on ...

and nothing appears to be happening.

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