*
I wish I had not
the compulsion
of changing words
around of giving them
new shapes new
sounds I wish I
just could see
you the word
.
.
.
*
I wish I had not
the compulsion
of changing words
around of giving them
new shapes new
sounds I wish I
just could see
you the word
.
.
.
*
this desire
that explores the cosmos
by miniatures
by high concentration
embracing
the whole array of words
.
.
.
.
*
I pick up words
as small daisies
on a spring field
careful to hold them
in small bunches
never as beautiful
as when first spotted
a memory of wonder
blushing as they close
around their meaning
covering the heart
shy of a truth near
enough – our dull spirits
remembering only a note
or two
.
.
.
.