The writer's mind is filled with incoherent, intangible thoughts. Somewhere in her head, underneath present pressures, ideas form slowly, their design dim, fuzzy, slowly focusing, like the sound of a worn-out radio tuning into the station. At that moment inspiration's spark – swift, lucid, free of dent or blemish – bursts through the poet's silent subconscious. And fingers now type on the keyboard, frenzied clicking and drumming sounds, forever comforting but always skeptical: words aren't perfect.

She writes, however, valiantly of raw feelings, of the grand emotions. She chooses bold words, velvety words, clear and daring and accurate, lyrical in sound and flawlessly rhythmic in rhyme and scheme. Wonders race out of her heart through bloodstreams to her itching fingers. This eloquent poem depicts a real triumph, a true success, and a tangible happiness; it teaches of saving grace and hides with skill a secret meaning in the beautiful metaphors of simple existence. And she finally finishes, in its last faded syllable, the complete idea that enlightenment in desperation at first created.