WHAT POETS DO

Unknown artist- Santa Fe

WHAT POETS DO

"Blow, west wind

that the small rain down can rain.

Christ, that my love were in my arms

and I in my bed again..."

- Anonymous, 14th Century

No wind today,

lake a quiet, faded blue.

Out on the pier a poet stands

watching colors of swollen clouds,

the light filtering down from them,

a black ship crossing the horizon.

She stands for a long time

just listening, watching, dreaming,

because this is what poets do

and centuries are passing

with every breath she takes

and new stars are being born

and all around her

women are birthing new poets

miniature heart-fists pulsing

with desire, eager to begin

transcribing their music,

their laments and celebrations

of the conduct of love.

- mimi