Do not call poetry a craft.
It is not a lie carved from fantasy.
Would you call yourself
the craft of God?
The worked over wood of a tree?
Paint on the cloth of a sail?
Do you call what you love a craft?
Your child a well made pot of clay?
Poetry is sacred saying.
Poetry is soul language.
Poetry is the cloth
the heart pulls around itself.
The music of planets and stars.
Poetry is not a craft
anymore than the Face of God
is a figurine.
Poetry is the testament of life.
It is rage picking up rocks.
Love, indifferent to pain.
Snow filling the eyes.
Tenderness touching hands.
Words scattered in the wind for the
sound of rain.