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