Where do words come from?
The air,
like specks of dust
floating free, unseen,
until they fall
onto the page?
The heart,
flowing through
your veins
and arteries
until they reach
your hand?
The eyes,
seeing so much
beauty in the world
you can't help
recording what
they see?
The pen,
in your hand,
moving across the page
leaving words behind
as proof that you were here
if only for the blink
of an eye?
The breath,
out of which each word
forms and is brought
into being?
1 comment:
This is really nice, Bruce. Words, to me, come from all those places. They swarm around us, begging to be appreciated. We only have to open the door and let them in ... then out, infused with our own particular sense of creative appreciation. On 11.29.2020 you opened the door and look what came in. Wow. Sweet deal. I say!
Post a Comment