Ideas where we live
Drift down into practical matters
Through us angels become
Both gardeners and flowers
He who invented the plow
Birthed a soul to pull it
A body to feed a job
To go to a street to wander
Today my angel told me
You too are just an idea
Working itself out on the page
Another ecstatic poem we're writing
If you just get out of the way
The word would come
No comments:
Post a Comment