words meet the poet
in life like resolutions
an endless ode lies
in those conjurers of self search
as naturalists in training
'til we live no more
ransoming off the seasons
we barter with the kindling
meeting conflict with a stream of ink
tireless is that sort of swan
clever like the face of copper
each image comes
an occasional thief appears
and the landscape is lost
incomplete
unsatisfied
dull
until
a thousand whispering for thoughts
take their cue
to gather momentum for
but another canvas
to be urged
and upon the grace
of mere mid breath
a scene of joy
steps out from the
swirling shadows
for to be found
one must have been lost
somehow.............
(written Jan 4,2006 245am)
really interesting piece