I have to let the poem find me,
I say, letting myself bask in the morning
light of creation yet to be, but when
night chases in and I fight against
the clock to put pen to penning the words
I realize I cannot strangle a poem
out of starlight and into the search bar
of a browser; how ignorant to have
the world of information at my fingertips
and rush the running of words
into formation, as if they ever were
mine to begin with.