poem

 Beginner's Luck

Some poems write themselves

With very little need for revision.

Others start as a sliver of half thought 

Or crumpled up idea inexplicably saved.

Days or weeks later all that’s left

Is the other half of a smooth

Sheet of crisp white paper.

The ones that fall into place,

Like snowflakes into a drift,

Are the ones everyone loves best

But I’m most proud

Of the ones I had to grind out

One tortured line at a time.

The one I’m working on now

Will take me the rest of my life.

I haven’t had to change 

A single line.

3/8/26