Friday, August 01, 2008

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

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