Will I find the poem from someone's eyes
the lines and words flashing bright,
but too quick to be held in my palms?
Will I receive it as a gift in the night
every line, every word, streaming in my dream-
I need to wake up and catch it pass by?
Will I find it in your hands as it held mine,
as I lead you inside a lover's room
to ignite the heart's imaginations?
Or is it the seed I buried in the ground,
that I need to nurture, word by word
line by line?
