Organizing Words (I Sort Clutters of Paper)

The trouble is
They want to be in so
Many places,
Won’t
Stay still.

Each letter on each
Sheet
Can imagine itself read
By a waterfall
Or at a kitchen table
Or in a rocker winged
With bookshelves.

Each has Something Vital
To share, about
The welfare of my children or
Balanchine or
The Theotokos.

They fold themselves into airplanes,
Flit
To various ports,
Never land for long.

They resist
The confines of file folders,
Spill out, instead
Into the marketplace of my mind
Where they call out,
“Promises!
Ice-cold
Promises!
Don’t forget your
Promises!”