This fruitless pen

I see my pen
hovering above the page
as I try to find direction
the hoped-for power of words
     but where to begin?

I see this pen
moving from line to line
and I wonder what you hear
when I write of stars
     as though thoughts might echo

I see myself
struggling to convey
even a shadow of my imagination
and I know with a certainty that
     language must always fail