Poem of the month : By William Stafford

A Course in Creative Writing

They want a wilderness with a map

 but how about errors that give a new start?­­­

 or leaves that are edging into the light?

 or the many places a road can't find?

 

Maybe there's a land where you have to sing

 to explain anything: you blow a little whistle

 just right and the next tree you meet is itself.

 (And many a tree is not there yet.)

 

Things come toward you when you walk.

 You go along singing a song that says

 where you are going becomes its own

 because you start. You blow a little whistle

 

And a world begins under the map.

 

by William Stafford