A spark, that’s all it takes,

And the words start to roll and shake
From a cabinet in my brain;
They tumble like a train
Down my mind’s lane,
And into my neck
Where they stop for a breath,
And on to my shoulder,
But slowly like a boulder,
Rolling and gathering moss
Without any loss;
No chips from the rock
So soft like a sock,
Falling swiftly to my arm
Not doing any harm,
But like a waterfall
Spreads healing moisture over all
And on still as a marching band
To meet the border of my hand
And spreads like fire
Fed by my desire
That I may be shown
Life’s own tone
From the words in my bones
That creep like medicine
Like blood from fresh venison
To the ink in my pen
That I’ve picked up again
And onto the sheet
That sits in this heat
And maybe almost beats
The words, twisting, rhyming
In your ears and chiming
Through the night,
Making dreams take flight
Alighting on stars in the night
And shining down on these pages
And lighting eyes of all ages.