To cast a spell on the world

I write a poem knowing little what a poem is,
Knowing little what it is I want to write about.
I pick up a dictionary, as if it were a telephone directory,
To look up all the words and their addresses.
I spell out all the words, one by one, starting with alpha and arriving at omega,
Looking and feeling for the word to describe what I do not know.
And out of blue sky, words begin to fall, as drops of rain --
Self-contained and mercurial.
They fall heavy, as heavy as waves, upon the shorelines of my forehead,
And together, they flow out into the open space as a deluge.
Must one always seek to find oneself in a widened horizon?
Does water seek the wider expanse of itself in the ocean?
I ask and continue to ask for advice from the river, wind, sky, everything.
I ask, as one who is lost in a foreign city,
In a broken version of the vernacular which is foreign to me.
Perhaps they do not know what it is I want to know.
How can they tell, when I myself do not know what it is I am trying to know?
Once I found myself looking at the middle of a blank page,
And it looked back right into my face with the white of its eyes.
There was horror in that two dimensional emptiness!
In fright I spelled out an uncertain word and it became the pupil in the eye.
I saw my desperate plight in its abject whiteness.

I am desperate!
I say to myself: write whatever it is, write,
Write to seduce the world with peace,
Write to intoxicate the world with peace,
Write so that we may come closer to the Word
Which is greater than the sum of all infinities,
Write, write to cast a spell on the world
So that it may forget how to hate and be spell-bound by a lasting peace.