It Happened

Two days ago.
It happened. An empty sheet.
I so wanted to feed
that blinking line. Where’s the divine
inspiration gone?
No zero, no one – none?
This is how you treat me, fate?
On a stoic flight through a stormy night?
On a flight too late?
Once again?
Damn.
My book, our book,
I need a hook or two
to do what I’m supposed to do.
A fool I am to believe
it’s easy. Nothing’s easy, thief!
You stole from your memory,
the room is empty now with grief
of self-pity. Memory is dead.
Emptiness. It happened.
Two days ago.