the stupidity of writing is believing
you have something to add to everything
that has been written, some sequence
of words worth reading after the Psalms,
all of Shakespeare, Borges, countless
poets of science, scientists become poets,
the endless avalanche of those who had something
to say even after everything had been written,
who could find new space in all of Creation
just as it unfolds before them, blank pages
waiting to be filled with more words,
more dreams, more stories,
or so I tell myself.