Sunday, September 19, 2010
I can sense that you are close,
you may even find me here.
Your whispers echo on the wind to me.
Ah, but you've been close before.
A float above my page.
I even thought I saw your mist-like form.
But you are Jasmine in the air.
You are Vanilla from it's pod.
As fragrant as a memory in my mind.
You want to savor the delight,
of fruition as a poem.
You long to be the Apple from the tree.
I now relinquish my control.
Use my hand to take your shape.
Ah, there you are, born upon my page.
Don Kingfisher Campbell
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