Writer's Block

A blank screen
In the corner near the top, a cursor blinks on and off
But nothing happens--
Just the sound of
Fingers tapping
Tic
Tic
Tap
Tic-tic-tap

And the quiet of

Eyes wide open, ideas trapped behind blue irises
I should say something, but my mouth is dry
My fingers arthritic with waiting
Wondering
What they have to say
How do you say love? Anger? The bitterness of a cry in the woods--
no one hears, right? How can you know?

Inside
Behind the blinking of too-tired eyes
the words are pasted in pictures--
a Douglas Fir, some dirty feet, the bleeding cut of a hand
and a woman leaning against a tree--

It's in the black and blue
where the light gets in and reflects
Upside down images

Now where did I put my little grey sponge?
If only he could
Soak them up,
Put them on their feet and
File them
At the bottom
In a never ending line of
sentences I never finish reading