What we can Be
Is a matter of Poetry.
You keep sending me
Essays on freedom.
Freedom from what?
Conclusions in flight
Running away from things
Not running towards them?
Give me the light of ideas
The dreams and the bliss
That are not ‘out there’
Like attractions to visit;
But hang in the air
Quiet in the mountainous
Zen-still in the burns
Cascading around us.
If you hope to turn me
Then show me your Beauty but
Not of the ‘out there’ kind.
Possess me with your poetry.