The Language of Creation
When I think of poetry
I think of a child manipulating
his first steps, the wobbly nature
of his strides~that confused, meandering
toddle, and then trip and fall – the dear
first efforts of us all. When I think of poetry,
I think of my introductory cords attempting
articulation: the naive study of lips, the spitting
aspirations, how the throat struggles, and then the
mouth opens to the notion of sound. When
I think of poetry, I think of the squinting and the
rounding of the eyes first awakening to light –
how the heart adjusts to thought...and how,
somehow, it is all related to love, the cooing,
caressing of a mother, before weaning.
Then when I think of poetry, I finally think of nothing...
empty myself, letting poetry think for me –
become my sight and voice, my very direct
line to God~knowing best the language
of creation.
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