"There is one small movement of the story that eludes your control,

one alien thing with no purpose
other than to teach you
that in the darkest corner of the story
dwells a wild force
that is too much
a part of you to see, a blind spot--
just as you do not see your own eyes
as they sweep the woods you walk through for danger."
--Wilbur Daniel Steele.

The Simple Mystery is my theme.
Pointing at the night, smiling, a gentle fool,
as if at the heart of darkness a porch light burned.
The story & voice so down to earth, clear, forthright,
but step back & a mystery intelligence passes through,
a current enters my eyes & goes out my toes.

Shadow of a longing from the basement of the story brushes
me: "What was that!"
I go over and over the story to find it, fix it, pound it
out, until it's time to let it go.
It's nothing but that one bent nail in the ridge beam
that may bring the whole house down around my ears.