Only Look

 All you have to do

is listen and you will

hear where the line

catches in the soul

of the poet as she says

her words out loud to you

the way poems were given

to live in this place.

Only look at the underside

of what is spoken aloft on

the air waves headed to

your heart, you will notice a

raw and tender bunching

of not just feeling, but of

energy that will now become

your lexicon of uncovering

the whole reason this poet has

suffered countless betrayals,

been nourished endlessly on

moonrises, and has bought too

many pages and pencils for

one solitary human being.  For,

the scribing of their hands and

the saying of their lips has brought

you manifold reprieve from the beautiful

struggle of living in your flesh.  Remember

to find the place where poets sing together

around the precious pools of grandeur,

in THAT PLACE their works become

gorgeous golems of glory that will follow

you home and be with you until the grave

if you would but allow them.  For where

what is written is spoken by she who has 

given it birth, THAT PLACE holds all the 

understanding you will need to hold her 

gentle cipher in your being for forever.  In 

the beginning WAS THE WORD.