the time she started writing poetry.
Now it came only in pithy lines
what had earlier extended itself
into paragraphs of the most heartfelt sort.
It had not surprised her,
this inability to write at stretch.
This inability to be able to sustain
the fervor to the end of the page.
She began to shorten the lines
and make uneven the mood.
She began to rest on words
where she earlier rested on sentences.
Where she earlier only paraphrased,
now she delivered. It was not
the sense anymore, it was the thing.
She knew she was becoming a poet
when she had begun to stare at single lines.