Another journal entry: Thursday, September 11, 1997

This stale morning I sit
in my office reading poetry
words strung together like pearls
shimmering against brown skin

The words have strings that draw me
beyond the walls of my still office
past the asphalt veins of the city
through the fields of Amish corn
to unseen worlds of the heart

Words have wings
and today I read poetry
because I need to fly away