Writers are like stargazers,
searching an imaginary sky
for distant galaxies
of meaning and metaphor–
trusting in the existence of a story-
an act of faith–
knowing that the story is there.
Somewhere beyond the flash of the idea.
Scientists and astronomers have a name for
the invisible material surrounding a galaxy.
They call it dark matter.
As I explore the galaxy of my imagination
I hope that somewhere,
beyond the dying stars of my early scribbles,
somewhere in the endless night
of all that is unknown to me
I will find the story that wants to be told.
I do know that the flickering brightness of my ideas,
just like the stars in the night sky, seem much closer than
they really are and may take longer than I think to
I have come a certain distance with my writing explorations.
Sometimes I feel as if I have been traveling for a long time,
too long–and I will never arrive at my destination.