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.