Can
poetry
be a
deserted beach hidden
from view reached with uncertainty.
Can poetry be expecting little but noise and
foreign privilege. Can poetry be lost between thousands waiting to be fed. Or
a shy smile never seen again. Can poetry be a wanting look I chose to ignore. Or a temple carved rather
than built. Can poetry be a regret to prolong a dream (I never wake from). Or a shrine to rats where fat lady's sing.
Can poetry be shrunk and played with like Dinky Cars
in the dirt. Or the promised protection from birth. Can poetry be stripped bare and furnished with independence.
Can poetry feel wonder in worlds where words are suppressed. Can poetry be a cardboard kaleidoscope;
twisted innocence or a wondrous view. Can poetry be a fountain to add to, to cry to, as crows feet comply.
