A poem is a risk, and a temptation.
It begins with God
(a thought has tickled his palm) groping with eager hands
in his pocket for a coin. Then suddenly
Off I go! I find myself spinning rapidly, flicked
on like a light switch, revealing my faces: agony and elation -
oh the torture! oh the ecstasy! I'm a loonie
in this pocket of the universe
wondering where I will fall between
obscurity and triteness
hoping today for the latter like "my love is beyond words."
I would like to be as sincere as my
heart beating
silently,
certainly,
but I settle with a
vague little "flump!" in God's lined palm.
I lay myself out like an X
in some corner of your mind,
and hope you'll find me out
from the text where I hide
from the risk and the temptation of
whatever I write.
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