A long, long time ago
from a touchstone of poetry
two sparks flew
one was Lime Green
and the other Turquoise Blue
they didn't flare and die
as sparks usually do
but encounter begged
mortality was shelved
and spark became ink.
So they flowed
these thin rivers
side by side
close but without convergence
in early-day coyness
one in Lime Green
the other in Turquoise Blue,
riding over and around
impediments
to fashion words
that touched one another
in the tumble
on inevitability
and surprise.
Death comes
and it did
leaving a blank page
at ledger-end
and a touchstone
asked:
what can be said
of limestone and granite
that fire nothing into verse
and hearts that hold back ink
in an October
made for word?
from a touchstone of poetry
two sparks flew
one was Lime Green
and the other Turquoise Blue
they didn't flare and die
as sparks usually do
but encounter begged
mortality was shelved
and spark became ink.
So they flowed
these thin rivers
side by side
close but without convergence
in early-day coyness
one in Lime Green
the other in Turquoise Blue,
riding over and around
impediments
to fashion words
that touched one another
in the tumble
on inevitability
and surprise.
Death comes
and it did
leaving a blank page
at ledger-end
and a touchstone
asked:
what can be said
of limestone and granite
that fire nothing into verse
and hearts that hold back ink
in an October
made for word?
