Commitment isn’t burned in me by vow,
and ritual will hardly stir a breeze
within my windy self. These lines say how
I start to work and bear its stress with ease:
I do and do and then I work some more.
I used to wait for inspiration’s prod
and rarely moved, but that was years before
I learned to drill myself to mimic God.

How obvious the truth is, now I know
its silhouette, its echo and its dance.
The trick was missing it before; the fact
was never hidden but it doesn’t grow
conspicuous in popular romance.
What matters isn’t words – I have to act.