Me all contrast and shaping the line:
The contrast changes; so can I,
Moving the dream around, foam
Upon the surface of the sea
Of my perceptions. Am I mystical?
So says my muse. She lies
On my skin and waits to be called.
There may be mud on my boots,
But I can shake it off.
There may be snakes in the garden,
But they kill the rats.
There may be repetition—-
That’s a the refrain.
When there is beauty in the movement
From idea to idea, ad infinitum,
That’s where the love is, lucky
As you are in the finish
Of the surface. Does it shine?
Like burnished bronze. It calls:
This is the day and I am its creator.
