I've been writing a poem in my twitter box. It's one I've been stuck on for five months. Now, with a form - prose blocks of exactly 140 characters - I've been able to (slowly) move ahead. With the decision of shape and pattern made, word and style can be focused on. Form is the greatest gift of love - a place to be, a shelter, a home.
Here highways stitch the loamy floodplain; cotton congeals in ditches. Silent for miles, you absently trace the scar beneath your shirt.