Poem Finds Me Poem by Micron Jan

The page waits, a quiet mirror of white,
Silent, endless, patient.
Ideas flicker—tiny sparks,
Dancing, colliding,
Pulling one another into shadow
Before I can touch them.

Nothing settles.
No thought has weight, no pulse, no warmth.
My mind drifts in restless tides,
Chasing shadows that vanish like smoke.

Words appear—softly at first,
A line, then another,
Like petals unfolding in slow motion,
Each one finding its place
As if they had waited
Only for this moment.

The page, once empty,
Breathes.
It hums.
The poem is here.
I did not summon it
It simply arrived.