In the bright haze of doubt
only the work has meaning,
not the manicured bravos whispered from a discreet distance
or the perfect twist of thought
or the raging grief for what has been found and lost, or painted blue
In that place where there is no good or bad or talent
where there is no charmed or gifted,
where there is only
you
and a need
It is the commitment
that matters
the scales twanged out to offended ears
the nouns, verbs and adjectives numbered on wide-ruled pages
the master drawings copied upside down, by space not line
the symbols translated from tangled code to clear answer
the habits mixed to match a fully molded life
the single sacred exercise devoted to craft,
not to art
or to money
or to the god forsaken for the Muse,
is the key
When the certainty of love is shadowed
and the transformation loses its shape in the fierce white light,
the touch of discipline,
firm and trusted,
will open the dream that you no longer see