2003Aug04 (Poem)
To think that words are not hollow
Shells or fragments of unmanifest thought
Vessels empty of action
To think how full the void.
Resonant sound from a plucked string
Wine breathing the same air that floats a ship
Or makes snow even as it saves a skydiver
The void sets an eagle adrift
And makes waves in the ocean
Words are a womb, Shiva’s conch, and music
Notation for the sake of imagination
Rhythm keeps us moving
Language keeps us being
Dreams keep us alive.