Dear Poetry

Dear Poetry,

  I cannot create you now.

   As my thoughts are too wide,

    my words too scattered

     for your delicate, precious form.
/

Dear Poetry,

  It has been too long since we’ve spoken.

   I am your misguided child,

    you are the eternal brush

     cleaning my chaotic soul.
/

Dear Poetry,

  I will return, one day, if only you’ll have me

   back to your dainty foreplay,

    back to your whitewashed margins

     coming dangerously to a sharpened point.
/

Dear Poetry,

  It is true, we will meet once more

   And I will crawl back to you through the mud

    and things will change in some form

     as I am dirtier than ever.

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