I have carved truth and beauty into yellowed parchment,having created something unique, vital, simple, complex, and bottomlessas a fallen flower. The jagged edge of brokennessintrudes upon my soul, and dusty fingerprints outlinethe soul of this poem. The unbroken stretch of timehas not erased these words eclipsingthe sun and moon alike.

What troubles they must have faced; what creative, poetic troubleswould have gnawed on that author—spiritlike moss and ivy on a house! Impossible feats are possibleviewed the right way, melding dark and lightinto lines that are like a wishing well and looking glass.These rhymes instill visions that I thoughtwould never come again,

and the rhythm beats faster than fire. For me,I find a new renewal in this poem. After years of waitingto write that masterpiece, that pièce de résistance,word after word grasps into touch, paper, and inkto reveal the tide of inspiration.