I thought I could write
And then the rusty fingers
Opened their vehement eyes
And laughed terribly

I thought I could love
And then the frozen heart
Spread their Christmas legs to genuflect
Against the darkening day

I thought I could achieve sanity
And then the madness of within
Stirred a lake full of quagmire
Shaking the Tannenbaum-like mind

I thought I could write
And today I read the stories and characters that I had made
Inside my head: a cuckoo sang
And winds rocked the logic’s pendulum
The whole day a fire burnt –
Without the wick, magic.