There was this once
before the writing dried up
and I became wet with beer piss.
Once when the words
showed up unannounced,
dressed to kill the boredom
between benders. They
were holidays, stifling yawns
on Monday at the office.
Words came like young boys
in the hands of young girls.
Came like children on sleds
in snowfall.
Came like answers
to prayer flags; to
prayers on the lips
of the old woman
as the priest leans in
with oil,
with the scent of almond
on his breath,
and an answer to
the question she wants to ask.