The sky is all that I can see
through this window as I lie
and think about time and poetry.
Stars suspended sparkle: stay.
Bright, black, the sky’s an open book
inviting anyone to look.
A seminar table is piled high.
Why am I here? To give away
my books. My: category error.
Nothing is anyone’s forever.
Every poem is a mirror.
Every line, each word is rife
with meaning drawn from someone’s life.
Reach in and you will find a thread
to guide your progress as you read.
The seminar goes on and on.
Sky pink with promise: sunset? dawn?
That world outside the window – wait.
Before you go, take time to write.
Paper? I have some extra. Take.
You need a pen, for goodness’ sake?
I can offer tools, it’s true,
but the rest is up to you.
You have language, you have hands
to sketch what last night’s dream demands.
Scribble down what you love and fear.
Each day becomes a seminar
in this school of poetry
where keeping equals giving away.
Nothing was ever ours to keep.
The stars tonight: too bright for sleep.