I got there strung out <br />on sleeplessness <br />and too much coffee. <br />I told him so, <br />saying I'd do my best, <br /> <br />and he said that was fine, <br />and giving me a glass <br />of water, led me to the glass <br />dining-room table, a stack <br />of papers and a pencil <br />waiting at each end. <br /> <br />He sat at one end, <br />I at the other, <br />and there we were. <br />My mind felt like a car <br />that revved and died, <br /> <br />but George proceeded calmly, <br />reading me the lines <br />he thought needed work. <br /> <br />My crippled mind gave me ideas, <br />and with nothing else to do <br />as time flicked by in the space, <br />the vast space between us, <br /> <br />I passed them on to George. <br />He considered each, tried it out, <br />sometimes used my word or phrase, <br />sometimes used it as a stepping-stone <br />to find his own. <br /> <br />George honored <br />the silence and the time, <br /> <br />and I began to, too. <br />I saw my mind, <br />that limping, hobbled bird, <br />could hop, then fly <br />as well as any. <br /> <br />Later, walking out the door, <br />well-fed by fires of concentration, <br />my mind and body both <br /> <br />flew from that perch <br />into a surprise <br />paradise newly created <br />while I'd been indoors, <br /> <br />my spirit intoxicated by <br />the liquor of the breeze, <br />eyes oozing <br />the honey of seeing.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/working-on-a-poem-with-george/
