Poems are not alive
Until they are written
There can be no rushing
Nothing can be forced
Sometimes they trickle
Like water over rocks
I imagine that sound
Peaceful, almost tranquil
A signature of rhythm
Captured on paper
An artist might paint it
The picture is vivid
I feel its life
And jot my words
Amazed with the process
Powers that occur
But do not question
Accept the gift
Little paper boats
That are kept adrift
Then captured down stream
Before they can move
Out to the sea and
Lost for eternity
Stanski
July 28, 2022, ^
Steve Haarman 