July 16, 2009
Address to an Artisan
Crocheter, weaver of cloth,
you sometimes fashion words as well.
Fashioner of words and phrases,
of tangibles and intangibles,
how does one fashion life?
You, often maker of knobbied stuff,
you weave a lifetime’s threads.
Weaver at the inner loom,
the warp and woof of what you weave
by far surpass your intricate words.
The woven cloth and mitered phrase —
you do create a thousand arts.
Creator of intangibles, your textured life —
the row-by-row — fails still to show
what master thread interlaces all.And while we're speaking of form, here's my award-winning sonnet:
For a Young Poet
You ask my words to move like weighted boughs
luxuriant with summer’s fecund blooms;
to give you shade sometimes and to avow
that autumn’s words more wisdom bear than June’s.
My words invoked crawl slowly forth like snails
that overnight have journeyed on my wood,
in darkness leaving me a mucous trail
crisscrossing truths I thought I understood.
To pull my leaves apart in search for truth
would be to find them bloodless as your own;
their rending would not wisdom give your youth,
nor knowledge of the summers I have known.
Our roots for now commingle, each in each,
and I learn more from you than I can teach.