Friday, April 07, 2006

the water poet

the water poet sits
his words are -
eternally old, and
tenderly young
unfolding truths pouring
from a heart caught
unaware - and shed
upon the textured page
drifting in whitest swan feathers.

the water poet dreams
in amethyst,
of intuitions dropping
as reflections upon
the silver lake,
of faces
turning in,
toward a muse.

the water poet smiles,
surrenders to the wind
and light -
his barest word -

the essence of this moment.

which is his life.

1 comment:

Kathleen Callon said...

Hey, you. Read your comment at Dimitri's... I don't envy your position, but I hope you make the best lemonade of your life with your many lemons. Just remember you and the kids are what matter. Figure out where you'll be happy and how to get there. If you do your best, things should take care of themselves. Life is like a pendulum swinging up and down... I hope you start your upswing soon. I wish you the best.