Words on pages, leaves in air

(...it seems that I DO remember how to post...)
(...and I'm still remembering how to write poems...)
(...wrote this just before my unplanned and inexplicable hiatus...)
(...seemed an appropriate place to start back up...)
(...I think I'm ready to do this again...)

Words on pages, leaves in air

I dreamed that all my words were in a book
and the book was small but very thick
and the book was lost for many years
and i found the book in an empty place 
and when I took the book in my hands
and tried to open it to read the words i had written there
the pages crumbled into dust 
and all my words were lost again
and i had to go out into the world
and find them all again
and all my words were dust 
and i tried to sweep them into a pile 
and i prayed there would be no wind
and i prayed a door would not open or close in that empty place
as i tried to gather my words to myself,
as i tried to clean them up
but my words were dust
and my words were picked up by the wind
and my words were aloft.
They were in the air.
They were all around me 
and they were blowing into the sky
and they would not stop
and they reached out to the furthest reaches of the atmosphere 
and even into space
and they were carried on solar winds 
until time forgot what they were,
until there were too many places they could be 
and too many things they could become
and they became them all
and they became dust
and ash
and leaves

Quoets for Poets — …the perfect poem…

(Another one from Mr. Graves...because Lynn and I were talking about the "P" word...
and with a photo [for phoets?] because lucking into the fatherhood of this little girl is 
the closest I figure I'll ever get to achieving it and yes.....it is more than enough. )


“Though, of course, a perfect poem is impossible. 
Once it had been written, the world would end.
—-Robert Graves