Ants crawl up the naked wall,
Dry cracks thunder down
And strike me in my wordless bed.
Struggling for breath ,I see
Their careful colony,
Through the pin-prick raining cracks,
Then black and quiet they turn to me.
March into my eyes.
My despairing cracks slide back up ,
With them my frayed nerves.
Now,black and quiet ,I breathe.
Finally tomorrow will bring words on my careful page.
(the lesson of careful precision and slow construction taught by the worker ants inspires a habitually spontaneous, temporarily dry poet to let the words flow again)
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