the poem

there’s a poem

that will make it

so no poems

have to be written anymore

but it is not this one

and not the next

but the one after

offers some hope

in the unknown

with its head in the sand

and its arms waiting

to be used to bludgeon

then caress all the words

that come its way

like predators

that circle back to its

mouthful of dirt

and promise of water

in it,

the moving oasis

carried with you

wherever you go

like a shadow that offers

no shade but is there

reachable and seen

if only you write the

right words

that make you raise your head

and believe you can never

put it down again

*

it is a man

palms to the ground

face trenched

who weighs the world

or just hangs on

legs dangling in an ocean

below and above

and inside him too