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UNSLAKED THIRST OF A POET
UNSLAKED THIRST OF A POET
Like a road used to the sun, the parched
Poet was like a hollow log who long ago
Tried to slake his thirst with rain of words.
Like a Budhdhst monk looking for clarity
In the water, a stillness befalls him so that
He can squeeze clarity out of the water’s origin
To drink too overtly after a long drought
Would kill the soul of any poet, so his
Languishing gestures lifts light from the water.
For this, he needed the springtime so that
He could see the stars clearly and drink from
The same pond as Cygnus in Aquarius.
All us poets are forsaken ones of benumbed
Desolation; it is no wonder our thirst remains
Unslaked. Only dissolving in light can quench
W are not beggars but assiduously work
Toward finding that reservoir that will slake
An unquenched humanity who are thirsty as well.
