It is a pleasure to have words before me as a potter has clay. I passed a glorious hour and a half this afternoon lost in my attempt to shape the vocabulary that had poured onto the page. Matching syllables, sounds, ideas, testing out the rub of words together... And then I thought about a conversation I had this past weekend about my never having had the desire to be perfect...only to be fully me...and to be happy with that.
That, in some ways, is my approach to poetry too... not perfect, but please, grace me the gift and insight to let the words be fully what they are meant to be, synergetic when combined, artful, colorful, alive. Funny, isn't it, that the same can be said of us, too, when we are in right relationship-- artful, colorful, alive. In the beginning was the Word...
I can't help but think
of those fortunate, fortunate bees...
vibrating with the communal instinct
to be baptized botanically-
with pollen and petals
and the one glossy drop
of earthy-sweet chrism
a flower has nested
in the offering bowl of its heart.