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
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