for David Wagoner

First, you said,
Write down everything,
The whole of the moment--
Pile the feelings and images on the page
Where you can find them later.
Collect sight and sound and odor,
Take the length of the shadows and the smell of the water
Without discretion.
For this is not the time
For form and rhythm.
Today you must gather raw material,
Like a potter digging clay from a riverbank.

Now, go to sleep.
And rise, and go to sleep again,
And perhaps, when you rise this time,
You will be ready approach your work
With clean hands
And a fresh, sharp mind.

If not, you must go to sleep again,
Until you can attack this chunk of words,
Not as a complete stranger, of course,
But as an old acquaintance.
Be neither friend nor enemy,
Only be fair.

You are arbiter now,
With a gavel and chisel in your hands.
You must decide
What is worth keeping,
And what is only taking up space.
You must hunt for that experience,
The meaning that is hiding on the page.
This is a word search—
Look up and down,
Left, right, and diagonal,
Circling the answers.

Arrangement, too, is in your hands;
Words must be mixed like paints.
As cadmium red and burnt sienna,
Create deep maroon,
Sunset and Cigarette,
Yield contentment.

Every word, every syllable
Is important here.
A defective link
Ruins a chain,
And one obtrusive word
Defeats an image, a line, a poem.
Keep only the most vital, the strongest,
And place everything where it belongs,
Creating a natural sense of order.

When your work is done,
Darks layered on lights,
Edges smoothed, surfaces glazed,
Hold it to the light, breathing deeply,
And when you find yourself inside its curves and shadows,
There will be no need for a signature.

by Levi King