The architecture of poetry

A word

or maybe just random letters

these are the gifts unintended 

but there is a filing instrument 

again a gift unintended

yes hurt 

can chip away

smooth over sharp edge 

cut clean

and hand over to heart

these raw materials 

with which

by and by

splendid pavilions I make

for who knows whom

if so desired to stay awhile 

Location

Rise, roll and crash

then run 

touch feet

worship-like

and run back

laughing-like

rise, roll and crash

in endless repeat

it’s not the you 

of first arrival

and it’s not someone else

no

the evening post exclaims: 

waiting for things that never arrived

waiting for things that might come

sifting grains 

and shifting blues 

are splendid places 

for feet to grow old

in the brine of being