Portrait

God I can get so lost writing a poem!

In the middle of just a few words I lose everything, not be able to see in front or behind or to the side, not be able to see.

One moment I'm facing the world, engaged, and the next I've spun around to a side of a world that's darker than nothing.

If I'm on the boat I'm standing in the back, staring at the wake the boat makes on the crossing from Houghton to Hoy in The Orkneys. The wake makes the gesture of a man taking one step at a time in the deep solemn water like he's either making a plan of attack or is suspicious of being invaded.

I can't explain anything to anybody.

Often in the midst of writing a poem, another poem is prompted by the one I'm writing and either a new poem is made and the old poem abandoned, or nothing is made at all.

One thing about being lost is how quiet it is. It's a form of sleeplessness wherein the sleeper rises and walks downstairs, turns on a lamp and pours a Canada Dry ginger ale into a small glass filled with ice. It's important that I sit patiently and not let the silence disturb me.

When I'm lost I can hear the difference between what I expect to hear and what I hear.