Sink

Eventually, your toes begin to sink into the sand. Set up a piano, roll out a yoga mat, piles of words on every surface, the thousand-piece puzzle nearly complete. I work a ten-hour day and come dazed into the late afternoon sunlight, wondering at life. At the back of my head, a little signal buzzes, says things about what you are doing and why it is right, but you can't quite hear it completely yet, can't quite see the letters and words sharpen in your line of vision. 

You try not to scare it off. 

If you sit here a little more, let the coffee steep a little longer in the French press, watch the deer wade through the grass across the meadow behind your back porch, you imagine it might turn up. Imagine it might announce itself to you, let you write it down, let you remember it. 

I opened my notebook, just to remember to keep looking,
and a dozen, dried four-leaf clovers fell out. 

Went to bed early.
It'll come, in time.