I wait
pretending to be a cove in a coastline
that poetry will fill as the tide rises
sometimes
the waves flow in softly, climb the sand
and flow back out again, barely disturbing sand
sometimes
the waves rush in and splash around the rocks
carrying away whatever traces humans have left
sometimes
the waves race in and smash against the cliff
climb halfway up its face, fall back as mist
I don't care
so long as poetry comes in and fills my heart and lungs
and flows back out my fingertips
let's change
the metaphor, poetry is a love affair
with a woman who is sometimes there
No comments:
Post a Comment