HOW WORDS USE US
Words are the only way we have to tell
Of far horizons hurtling into space,
Or how a swaying limb invokes a spell
On stars, to jostle them back into place.
Syllables follow hollows in a rock,
And mourn the heavy fallen heads of flowers
That, spent, drop seeds as surly skies that mock
Withhold the comfort of warm sudden showers.
We are the ill-tuned instruments they choose
To work their magic on the scenery –
A clumsy apparatus that they use
To bring a poem in focus, as each tree
Reaches toward heaven in this earthly night
With shadowed petals, twigs traced dark on light.