My dear friend S Francis at SailorPoet
I wonder what these words are worth to me,
To those who do not have eyes yet to read
Or chips in heads to absorb what pens bleed.
I ask that we take time to look, to see
All the tiny things the earth wants unveiled
Record them like scientists, like poets.
Like the nine lovers of Hesiod we’ll sow
Lyrics to life from the smallest detail.
The simple value of these words exchanged,
Is kindness; allow hearts to slide outside
Their box closeted, locked, hidden inside
Until with my pen’s ink I rearrange
The orders I followed, obsequious
And find in disorder, joy’s deviance.
Painting: Francois Boucher Erato, The Muse Of Love Poetry