have you danced on moonbeams?
defied gravity inside a floating teardrop?
escaped the bindings of sense & sensitivity?
if it’s not quite the truth
nor grossly a lie,
then it must be poetry…
the stories we tell, the poems we create,
are not always cut & dried,
and seldom simplified.
there is often an air of mystery –
and that’s what a poem is supposed to be.
if a poem leads nowhere, is it the poet
who is lost, or the observer?
pursue the enigma, & follow blindly…
out of the fog & the distance
the poet shouts, & the poem pleads
i’m here, i’m here –