So many minds have written words, not just any words but the words that are already on the paper.  When I sit down to work I have to think about what I am writing and when I sit I will pick up a pen and write, and revise, and write; probably.  But sitting in a plane the other day I wrote.  The words just flowed.  All I had was a small tablet I carry for emergencies.  I had looked out the window and it was getting dark.  There were holes in the sky.  They were dark, indigo in color and that is what the poem that revealed itself to me said; it said the same, indigo blue.  It went like this ( not edited) Holes in the sky/Darkening to indigo /Blue; We grew til/ the stars of the north/ formed a pattern we knew.  Stories into truths/that were lived;/Once upon a time I knew/ that song, just give me,/me my moment when/stars tell stories I know,/ I'll show you the heaven/with sunsets glow.-daw Titled, Dusk Turns.  Now I'm saying there is something to be said for just revealing what is written on the page.