I’m no poet.
If I were,
I could sing
Wordless beats.
My yearning’s
Beauty can
But Music
Understand—
Sometimes, if
I let it
Come close ‘nough.
On the shore
The struggle
Vanishes
In the storm’s
Afterglow:
That is my
Roaring soul.
I could tell
You maybe
The formless
Mystery
Of my self—
What I feel,
Or might be.
But a poet
I am not.
I’ll let you,
Thus, touch me.
