If all my words were mating calls, And all my poems merely The slapping of the waves by A whale's fins to garner some attention, If the purpose of all my work Was only echolocation, What answer can I make When a listener surfaces From the deep, calm and Implacable, a beautiful inevitability? What can I say when the man I dove for comes to me And says, Here I am, You can stop calling now, I will not leave. What then, when I hold Coleridge's flower in my hands? What can I do now - I who have Pressed my pen to the grindstone For the purpose of finding him - Now when all I know to do Never needs doing again?
Coleridge's Flower comes from this quote: "What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if,when you awoke,you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?"