Poem: Another Morning, Another Poem

Another Morning, Another Poem

Some mornings, rising from bed
already I think I know what the day’s
work will be. 

Today, though, I am here
at the blank page, wondering
what I will make this morning.

What comes is this, a silly thing,
another unmajestic self-indulgence,
existing only to say I marked the blank page.

Yet, I know that this act is central, that writing
even this matters to the muse, who will reward me,
later with real work, hard and beautiful.