The Birth

I wait a little, and the words come They appear, like little shaded lights One red, one violet, one blue, one green… They fly around like tiny birds Taking their perches, twittering, singing And while I am writing I am climbing, wavering, circling Among tress and branches And the flowers are curving over me And only I know Which petal is the right one Which leaf is the right one… While I am writing I am diving into the deep sea Threading my way between weeds In the darkness, cold, inscrutable And suddenly my verses Shoot to the surface Jumping over the waves Spreading themselves across Sun-flickered spaces