Mary Oliver is my hero.
She writes of the wren’s singing being a prayer.
There are the geese and the gulls and the sea. 
As a child, I wrote words on little scraps of paper
and kept them in a special place. 
Maybe I was a version of Mary Oliver.
How could I say such a thing?
It’s only a wish, really.
I still write words, but now they become what
they are by tapping keys.