These words, as delicate as unicorns
Seeking virgins across a flowered meadow
Become
Wild pigs of fortune
Rooting morels of richest flavor
Growing in ragged rings
Trailing under trees.
I have dined on hope & horror
That sweet & sour of life –
I choose my plate & am served,
The pickiest of eaters
No longer starved but selective.
—
There is a future of poetry quiescent in me
Until it surfaces
An inexplicable sea of languaged possibility
An electricity of words
A rumpled lightning honed in thunder:
A power of music & movement
A violin plucked in silence
As solid as any ephemeral
Ringing the drums of inner ears.
I sing as it threads from me
Pure, honied notes
Caught in a seine of glisten
Unfolding in echoes
One word spawning a generation of new thoughts.
—
The Magnum Opus of my earth-days
Breaking forth in syllables,
A waterfall of words
Manipulative argot yanking me
This way & that
Finally bouncing off the sky
As light breaks through.
I quest the possibilities of expression
For you, panning a seine net for gold nuggets
We can spend on the future
Cooking up possibilities where
We retire from the table, patting
Full bellies,
An unexpected belch of repletion
Bringing a smile since
There is simply no room for dessert.
—
Riding the Light 
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