The ink inside my head is black.
The page beneath my pen is white.
The ink inside my soul is blue.
A planet rolls along its track.
Its star’s embrace is full of light
though all around them, space is black.
A sail is raised by straining crew,
a slice of wind-shape, clean and bright
against a sea of deepest blue.
A broken wave cannot come back.
A broken heart can be made right.
A mended pot still shows the crack.
Who saw the seed before it grew?
Who guessed the dawn at dead of night?
Who knew the wind after it blew?
My single gift, my only knack:
to see a name, to call it true.
To write it down in ink of black.
To breathe it out in ink of blue.
Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
1 comment:
I love this. Hope you don't mind that I linked to it on this week's Poetry Friday.
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