Manna (To each his own)

Letters, he said,
are all right-angles
twenty-six conduits
for simple acquisition.
Put your words on the shelf
at night, unpack only
what you need. Stop
mistaking typewriters
for altars. My dear,
your pencil’s not a paintbrush.
The consequence of sound
ends at the softest

Why do you need a word
for homeless planets,
the heritage of solitary stars?
Why do you assign
meaning to the gasp
of wonder when you look
out the window and see
home, a cityscape,
an ancient horizon
you can trace with your index?

A miracle doesn’t need
a legacy, I said,
but how can you live that way?
When you lay beside
the river’s midnight lurk,
swans asleep in hidden
nests and yellow ragweed
in your hair, look up-
watch waves of savage wings
and wind roaring over
your head. Believe this
is why ancient Greeks
fashioned myths and heroes
from our galaxy’s rollicking war-cry.
Lean with your whole
body towards the churning
hour and consecrate
rugged euphony with your own
surprised shout, pure
and ephemeral adoration.

All of this and heaven too.
Bless the man who christened
each wisp of earth-hewn pulchritude
the hands that consecrated
these ephemeral gifts,
sonic revelations carved into stone.



2 thoughts on “Manna (To each his own)

  1. You are literally my favorite poet, and I read a ton of poetry! I get really excited when ever I get an email notifying me of a new poem of yours. I often send links to friends. Your stuff is great! I want you to publish books so I can have them in my library! Haha, keep it up! You’ve got this:)


    • Oh my goodness, this is was such a gift to read. Thank you so much for your words and encouragement! I’m so happy to know that my writing elicits excitement in you, and I hope that it will continue to do so for a long time.


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