Finding Flight
This blank page resounds
echoes of past verbal grace
Linger on pale skin
Random assortment
language is electrified
the poem begins
One quiet quatrain
leaping through the vast divide
merging words and flesh
The sonnet alive
pulsating with borrowed light
majestically pure
A culmination
the words they speak no longer
I must be rebornoriginal: 3.2011
latest: 4.2011
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