Entrance

I'll be out walking and start composing my entrance to an essay, write the rhythm of the beginning and know when to pause--white space--and where to begin again. I choreograph the pieces of my experience in relation to steps, the magnitude of birds and toads of the lake. It comes as an external narrator translating movements into sentences, an out-of-body experience. I write word after word in silence and return home to lose every syllable before they become visual, the thought of making something imagined a reality becomes an exhaustion. All those words, stuck, hung like photos on an attic wall.