the poet’s work, as
i understand, is to
nurture the
heart
converse with
silence
to walk & think &
feel in a
dream of
words
to resonate with the
syllables of
creation
to be busied with
eternal
things.
but i have a
love in this
world, whom i worship
with my fleshy hands &
earthly heart.
i do not wear a
shaman’s robe, or tote a
philosopher’s
staff
i cannot claim a
gift of
tongue
my life is
no more than a
prayer for her
love, or a
chant to draw her
near
i cannot know
why or when or
ever again
but perhaps in the
fullness of our
blessings
i will learn to
sing.